


How to Babysit Lovino Vargas

by CrimsonRoseBlooms



Series: Our Nine Years [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Babysitters, Alternate Universe - High School, Babysitting, Childhood Trauma, Delinquent, Eventual Romance, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Orphans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-04-03 21:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14004888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonRoseBlooms/pseuds/CrimsonRoseBlooms
Summary: After an incident at school, Antonio has been made to take on a babysitting job. As if that wasn't bad enough, he's been stuck with the devil's child: Lovino Vargas. It seems like he wants nothing but to make Antonio's life a living hell. How was he going to make it through this alive? Or will he somehow grow to like this angry, swearing, red-faced child that seems incapable of kindness?





	1. Prologue

No fifteen-year-old had a job at his school. It was exam year. It was crucial he had the time to study. 

“Well, maybe none of them go out picking fights with other people,” Mrs Bonnefoy refuted, buttering her bread rather savagely, “Francis is right. You need to learn more about responsibility. Tell Roderich that he’s free any day after school.”

Antonio didn’t bother arguing. He just glowered at Francis, his supposed friend and somewhat brother. But he was no help in these situations, only nodding at his mother and slurping his soup. He wouldn’t even look Antonio in the eye, so he just kept glaring. 

“It’s just babysitting, Antonio,” she sighed, “Don’t make that face. It’s not helping. You know I wouldn’t do this if I had a choice. But you can’t expect me to let you off after getting suspended, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’m sorry,” he exasperated, “I told you I’m sorry. It was a one-time thing. I’ll never do it again. I’m really, really, really sorry.”

Mrs Bonnefoy sighed again. 

“I really didn’t mean it. I won’t even hang out with Gilbert outside of school again. I’m sorry.”

“Antonio,” she began, and he knew there was no hope. 

He pushed his bowl of soup away, shoved the chair out of the way and said, “I’m not hungry.” Then he went upstairs to his room just for the sake of slamming the door. The satisfaction from the resounding echo didn’t last long though. He flung himself on top of his unmade bed instead, savouring his final moments of freedom. 

Knowing Mrs Bonnefoy, she would probably make sure he was home every night from now on. Maybe he ought to skip school to hang out with Gilbert instead. That would work. 

“’Toni, who knew you were such a drama queen.”

He let out a loud groan in his pillow. 

“Get out, Francis.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

Antonio had to flip his head around to make sure Francis wasn’t making that sarcastic face of his. But he wasn’t. He was being sincere for once. He wasn’t even leaning against the doorframe but was standing right in front of him, arms crossed. 

“That was really shitty of you. You fucking betrayed me.”

He gave a half-smile. “Hey, I’m doing you a solid. You just don’t know it yet.”

And although he knew that was only a ploy so that Antonio would go back downstairs, apologise and be a good boy again, he sat up to listen. 

“This Roderich guy is someone Gilbert found. He’s looking for someone to babysit this nine-year-old brat. Anyway, he’s paying a hella lot of money. You’ll be loaded, ‘Toni. Enough money to buy whatever game console you want.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t want a game console.”

“Well,” Francis stroked his chin. He liked to do that, enjoy the new stubble that was finally settling in. Antonio knew he wanted to grow it out but couldn’t imagine how stupid a goatee would look on his face. 

“Then you can save up for getting out of here.”

He looked at him sceptically. 

“Come on, ‘Toni. The kid’s sad. The pay’s good. It won’t even be hard. Just let him watch some TV, give him some pizza, impart some wisdom and boom! You’re back in Mum’s good graces and we can go wild again.”

“I hate that your plan makes sense for once,” Antonio groaned, “But how long do I have to put up with this crap?”

He shrugged. “However long it takes for Mum to feel you’re a changed man.”

Antonio scoffed.

“Honestly, it’s great for you. The house will be empty each time you babysit too.”

“You think I could invite Gilbert round?”

“That’s a no-no. You never know if Mum might come back.”

“And what about you? You’re not going to help me after getting me into this mess?” 

“Oh, Antonio,” he sang, swinging his arm around his shoulders, “It’s not a mess. It’s a perfect crime.”

~

So Friday night was his first day in employment. 

As promised, Mrs Bonnefoy left town to visit some friends and Francis decided to go to a party across town and swore to return the morning after hungover. 

“I don’t want to do this already,” Antonio groaned, “Francis, can’t you do it?”

Francis pressed his bottle of merlot onto Antonio’s face who responded by punching him. He scarcely avoided him and smoothed out his long blue jacket.

“And spend my weekend at home? Hell no. There are parties that would pay me the same amount just to show up, love. Can’t let them down.”

“I hope you get fucked.”

“So do I,” Francis grinned, showing his row of perfect teeth. Antonio wanted nothing more than to punch them in. 

“Just think about leaving here forever. It’ll make the time pass.”

“You really want me gone that badly?” 

Francis smiled at him, but this time kinder. “You know I would want you to stay here with me as family, ‘Toni. I barely ever like anybody this much. But you’re unhappy here, right? And you probably won’t be happy until you’re somewhere else.”

Antonio flushed for some reason. 

He couldn’t remember the last time anybody had been this open with him. Even though Mrs Bonnefoy tried all the time to pry him open, to ‘heal’ him, he never felt any connection. And with Francis, who never tried at all, they became partners in crime. But he knew he cared for him, somewhat. 

“Thanks… I guess.”

“What do you mean ‘I guess’?” he laughed, “You’re going to thank me for this later. I swear. Have a good night, I’m going to go catch some chicos and chicas.”

He waved at Antonio and he shivered. 

“Stop destroying my language.”

“You’re right. I’m better sticking with French. It fits my image more.” He stroked his chin in serious consideration.

“And the fact that you’re actually French,” added Antonio.

“Nobody actually cares about that,” he rolled his eyes, “Au revoir.”

“Suck my dick.”

“You wish,” he chortled as the door slammed behind him.

And now that the gigantic house was devoid of any living thing except him, Antonio felt the dread settle in. It wasn’t like he was nervous. Like Francis said, it wasn’t hard to look after a child. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet.

But when the doorbell rang, the dread was now a whirlpool in his stomach. 

Nonetheless he got up quickly, cursed that he hadn’t thought of wearing something other than his stupid white t-shirt with the label ‘I’m special from my head to-ma-toes’. Not that he was trying to impress anyone, it was just embarrassing. He couldn’t remember where the t-shirt came from. A gag gift from Gilbert no doubt. 

The bell rang again.

“Just coming!” he yelled, not that they could hear. So he dashed for the door and swung it wide open, blurting out a rather excited, “Hello!”

“Um, hello.”

Standing on the doorstep was a tall, slender man. Antonio couldn’t help but notice that he looked more pretentious than Mrs Bonnefoy. No, Mrs Bonnefoy was more fashionable. This guy looked like one of those pretentious teachers and even more so when he pushed his glasses further up and grimaced at Antonio. 

“Are you… Antonio?”

“That’s me.” 

“I’m Roderich. I’m sure you have all the details?”

Antonio couldn’t help but wonder how Gilbert ever met this guy. He was the complete opposite of him. 

“Yup, babysitting during the weekends. No allergies, no issues. And it’s going to be paid, right?”

“I’ll pay you when I come to collect Lovino, hopefully in one piece.”

He had mumbled the last part but Antonio heard it loud and clear. Screw what he said before. He and Gilbert shared the trait of being painfully rude. He was even wrestling the child from behind him.

“This is Lovino Vargas.”

Finally, Antonio got to see the boy he was going to be stuck with. In his head, he had conjured up the image of a studious kid with glasses, somewhat matching Roderich. But Lovino wasn’t that. Lovino was scowling. 

“He’s nine years old. If you have any problems, just give me a call.”

“Okay dokay.” He gave a small smile to Lovino but he didn’t even look at him. “Nice to meet you.”

Roderich patted the boy on the head rather strangely. It was as if he was afraid to touch him by the way he did it so systematically. You would only ever use that hand motion if you were tapping a table top, he supposed. 

“Be good,” were his last words.

Antonio kept his eyes on Lovino but he wasn’t responsive. Even as Roderich turned away, got in the car and drove away, Lovino didn’t respond a single bit. It was as if he had disassociated himself from the rest of the world, or he was bitter at everything, a scowl permanent across his young face.

It made him somewhat sympathetic. 

“So, you wanna come in and play, Lovino?” he asked, softly. 

Lovino turned slowly to him, looked him up and down and said, “Fuck you.”


	2. Don't Fight Him

What kind of nine-year-old knows how to swear like that already? Did nine-year-olds do that? He couldn’t remember when he first started cussing either. All of his childhood seemed like a blur now.

He tried to think of it positively. At least that meant he didn’t have to censor his language.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Do you wanna watch TV?”

“No.”

“What about video games?”

“No.”

Antonio was slowly growing agitated. But younger boys were like that. They were difficult just for the sake of being difficult. They deliberately tried to be misunderstood.

“Okay. So you’re just going to sit there and do nothing?”

Lovino was glaring at him, his eyebrows pulled tight together. It looked as though he was some sort of pirate toy.

“Okay. Have it your way,” Antonio sighed, “I’m going to be in my room if you need me. Dinner will be at six. I’m ordering pizza.”

Lovino spat.

He actually spat.

There was spit on the floor.

“I fucking hate pizza.”

Antonio tried to pinpoint exactly what he was angry at, but it didn’t work. He liked to think he had self-control. He could act the obedient child and he could go wild whenever he willed it. But this kid was pushing limits.

“Well I didn’t ask your opinion,” he gritted out.

“Whatever, retard.”

Antonio took in a deep breath and, hoping to maintain his sanity, walked out of the living room.

~

There was no noise from downstairs so Antonio assumed everything was running smoothly. Francis was right – he didn’t have to try. He could just let him do what he wanted, feed him and send him off. It wasn’t difficult.

After moping in his bedroom for a while, he switched over to his laptop. He couldn’t remember the last time he spent a Saturday night playing shooter games. It was sad, in a way but at least it occupied his time. Focussing on stats on a screen was better than worrying over a kid that didn’t deserve worrying about.

It was during his twentieth round that there was a yell.

“Hey, tomato bastard!”

Antonio groaned as loud as he could and paused the game.

Why couldn’t he just disappear? And why ‘tomato bastard’? That didn’t even make coherent sense.

“It’s already seven. I’m fucking starving.”

He turned to his window which had since turned into a screen of black. Time really did fly. He wondered if Francis and Gilbert were already drunk off their faces. He wished he was drunk. He wished he was anywhere but here, really.

“I’m coming,” he grumbled, making his way downstairs.

And there stood the little terror, arms crossed.

“Can’t read the fucking time?” he said, sarcasm dripping from his very posture.

“Has nobody ever taught you any manners?” Antonio snapped back. “I’ll order the damn food so just shut up.”

Lovino didn’t talk back but he pulled such a detestable face that Antonio wanted to punch him. The monster within him was growling, prying at him, wanting to destroy something again. But he held back. He had to hold back. That was what got him here.

Plus, he was hungry too.

He ordered the pizza quickly, not really concerned about the choices. The little devil had no allergies anyway. And if he did… well, ignorance is bliss. It would be some adult’s fault, not his.

Out of vague curiosity, or rather, sheer boredom, Antonio peeked through the living room door.

The TV was on. Antonio didn’t recognise the show, but it didn’t look very entertaining, with all the actors and actresses moving so slowly, the camerawork so poor that it could only be a low-budget project with some nameless director. There was fake laughter coming from the TV but when he glanced to the sofa, where Lovino was lying on, there was nothing.

He was staring blankly at the screen.

Antonio wondered if that was what life was like for a kid. His life couldn’t be used as a comparison, but he was sure a healthy nine-year-old ought to be running around or studying diligently or something like that.

It seemed somewhat pitiable – enough that Antonio felt the need to give him a second chance.

He was about to walk but into the living room but hesitated.

How was he supposed to help? He couldn’t. He was probably the worst example for a kid, regardless of how rude they were.

So with an exasperated sigh, he went back to his room.

~

The next time he came downstairs was for the delivery.

He wondered if he ought to plate up some pizza and take it up to his room to eat. But then he decided against it. He wasn’t good at pinpointing why, but he just didn’t want to. So he piled up the pizza boxes and went into the living room.

At the noise, Lovino had jumped up from where he was moulding with the sofa.

“I, er, got some sides.”

The smaller boy looked like he was about to cuss but then said, “Which sides?”

“Um, chicken dippers, potato wedges and garlic bread.”

“Hmph.”

But he helped open the boxes and tucked in before Antonio could put another word in. They ate in silence, the only noise coming from their munching and the dramatic soundtrack from the TV show.

It was while he was clearing things away that he noticed Lovino hadn’t touched the pizza at all.

“You’re not going to eat it?”

“It’s not real,” he huffed, as if that was a valid answer.

“Hey, you know there are people out there with no food to eat,” Antonio scowled in a sudden attempt to discipline the child under his care. It was that or the fact that he had wasted money on this pizza.

“They aren’t Italian.”

“And?”

“You shouldn’t eat it,” Lovino demanded, “You should eat real pizza.”

“Oh my god, you’re one of those rich kids.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Of course you won’t eat processed crap.”

“I’m eating this shit, aren’t I?”

“And what,” Antonio exasperated, “In your learned opinion, is real Italian cuisine?”

“Pasta.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Pasta?”

“I like pasta. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

He let out another sigh. 

No point arguing over this. He definitely wasn't going to put in the effort of cooking pasta if Lovino couldn't put in the effort to show some respect. Or manners. Or decency. But Antonio chose not to get wound up in it. Instead, he went to plate up the leftovers. Maybe Francis would eat it or they could have it for lunch or something.

“You know, if you have something to say then you should just say it,” Antonio muttered to himself.

“I can hear you.”

“Well, I did just speak.”

“Why are you such an asshole?” he glowered.

Antonio had been called a lot of things before. He learned to block it out. But for some reason, whatever this particular kid said just got on his nerves. And maybe he really was losing his touch, but he just wanted to punch him.

“Why do you feel the need,” he gritted out, “To be a nightmare for everybody? That’s why we’re both stuck here.”

And without warning, he slammed his head against Antonio’s side.

Although it certainly wasn’t strong enough to break a rib, Antonio felt his tender skin tear underneath his shirt. It felt as bad as it would have if somebody had jabbed the knife back into the wound and twisted it back out. He crumbled onto the floor, dropping all he was holding.

Lovino was staring at him with wide eyes, terrified.

“Stay here,” Antonio managed to hiss out as he climbed to his feet. The blood had seeped through, soiling the happy tomato in front. It looked as if it had been stepped on.

“And don’t come out until I say so.”

And for once, Lovino did as he said.

~

The rest of the night was uneventful. Antonio had to nurse his stitches with some ice packs and plasters. Although he was angry beyond words, he wasn’t about to leave the house to a nine-year-old. That would be a bit too dramatic. 

He leaned back against his bed, letting his eyes close. It only seemed to strengthen the pain, but he needed to let it pass. He focussed only on the stinging and let his mind drift away. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he sat there all night, meditating on the fact that it was an absolute disaster. A disaster he would have to live with. 

When he woke up, it was to Roderich knocking on the door.

“How was Lovino?” he asked, staring sceptically at the blood stain on his shirt.

“Fine. This is an old stain,” he muttered.

“I guess you really do need the money.”

“He’s in the living room. I’ll go get him.”

He half-expected to see the living room in pieces but when he opened the door, Lovino was lying on the sofa, vacantly staring at the TV. The pizza boxes had been chucked in the bin and the floor was spotless. It was as if Lovino hadn’t moved since last night. Antonio wondered if the TV had been on since then.

“Lovino,” he said, quietly.

The little boy sat up instantly as if his voice had pierced him. This time he wasn’t glaring, wasn’t cussing, wasn’t spitting at him. Just staring. And he was staring at his torso, as if examining him.

“Roderich is here to pick you up.”

His little eyes bounced up to see his expression. Antonio held the gaze.

It felt much longer than it needed to be. There was no understanding, no communication – just a stare.

Then Lovino nodded.

He didn’t bother interacting with him again, just shoving past him, the door, Roderich and got in the car.

Antonio continued staring but Roderich just sighed as he dug out his wallet.

“Here you are. I’ll see you next week.”

“Wait,” Antonio said, before he realised he was saying it. He didn’t even realise he had a question until he blurted out, “Is he… always like that?”

“Like what?”

Roderich was frowning and although Antonio was sure he couldn’t be that much older than him, it was intimidating. Roderich had the look of a senior, of authority. It was like he was sticking his nose at him.

Antonio gulped. “That. Angry. For no apparent reason.”

Roderich shrugged, “How would I know? He doesn’t speak to me. I’ll see you again next week.”

“Right…”

Antonio took the money rather hesitantly and watched the car drive away. He didn’t really know what to expect. He wasn’t really sure what had happened but he was quite sure he didn’t want to do this again.

~

“So how’s that babysitting going?” Gilbert grinned, flashing his new piercing at Antonio.

“Crap.” Antonio shuffled his tray of food along so that Gilbert could sit next to him. “Also, the guys are going to rip that thing off your ear.”

“I like it,” Francis commented from across them.

“Thanks man. Gives me more of that sexy-dangerous vibe, right?”

Antonio rolled his eyes.

“It couldn’t have gotten that bad,” Gilbert emphasised.

Francis laughed, “Oh, but it did. Little monster ripped ‘Toni’s stitches.”

“The fuck?”

“Yeah, had to take him to the doctor the next day just to check it out. Just lucky I got to him before Mum did otherwise that would have been the end of that.”

“I want it to end,” Antonio grumbled, “It’s the worst.”

“Wow, and here I thought you guys would bond,” Gilbert whistled, reaching over to grab Antonio’s Coke but Antonio snatched it away.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Gilbert sighed, “I thought you would relate to him. Nine-years-old, orphaned, put into a family he doesn’t really want. That kind of thing.”

“What?”

Antonio stared at Gilbert, wondering if he was the same guy he befriended. When did he begin psychoanalysing him? In fact, when did everyone decide that this would be a good idea for him? It was like they were plotting against him. Or maybe he was just blind to all the attention he was getting from the people around him.

Gilbert didn’t see fussed by Antonio’s persistent gaze and continued.

“Roderich moved over here to look after the two Vargas kids, you know. Their grandpa died from a stroke or something.”

“What about their parents?”

“Mum died during childbirth. Dad died of some heart problem.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, it’s sad. And this Lo… Luigi?”

“Lovino,” Antonio supplied.

“Right, Lovino. (Stupid Italian names gotta be hard to remember.) Well that kid has it even worse. According to Roderich, he’s horrible at everything he does. Poor little guy got the short end of the stick.”

Antonio held out the bottle of coke. “Gil, if I give you this, will you, for heaven’s sake, just tell me everything you know about the goddamn brat?”

“You strike a hard bargain,” he smirked and took it. Antonio waited until Gilbert had chugged it all, burped, threw the empty bottle into the bin and got yelled at before he pestered him to continue.

“He has a little brother. A little talent, I’ve heard. Basically, Roderich prefers the little brother. That’s why he takes him along on the road trips and leaves Lovino with you. It’s quite pathetic of Roderich, really. Even I feel bad for him.”

“Wow.”

“So what’s he like?” Gilbert asked.

“He swears more than us.”

Gilbert laughed, “Really?”

“Real colourful vocabulary. He’s really aggressive and angry all the time. Now I see why. If his parents died, his grandpa died and then his carer doesn’t give a shit about him…”

Francis finally spoke up. “Maybe you should give it another shot, ‘Toni. I mean, I was against it when I saw your stitches but maybe it was just one bad day. Try be nice to him.”

“I was,” he emphasised, “And he just head-butted me.”

Gilbert shrugged, “I agree with Francis. Plus, since when has a little violence stopped you from doing stuff? And this is a kid as well. I’d be disappointed in you.”

“You’ve been outnumbered, ‘Toni,” Francis grinned.

“This isn’t a damn democracy. You two came up with this idea in the first place,” he snapped.

“And that’s why we’re making this decision for you.”

Antonio shook his head in disbelief, but he couldn’t find it within himself to completely shoot down the idea. In fact, he was somewhat intrigued.

“Fine. But if I get an axe to the head or something, you two better do some serious compensation.”

~

Since Antonio had begun his spree of skipping class this week, he had the extra time while he was wandering aimlessly around to think about Lovino. Mainly about how much his stitches were agitating him but also about Lovino’s life.

As much as he hated to admit it, they shared similar traits. Within this tiny coastal town in Italy, there were barely any people like that.

He supposed it wouldn’t kill to be nice to him.

~  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for leaving comments and kudos, guys! You are absolutely amazing and I'm so looking forward to posting more often. This is the start of something amazing! And I hope you'll stick with me throughout this journey.
> 
> Also, what do you guys think of Antonio? I wanted to recreate the bad-boss vibe, but every time I think of him in my head he's just smiling so sweetly... I guess that's why he has that flip-side with Mrs Bonnefoy though. Let me know what you think! I'll be back soon.


	3. Don't Pity Him

At least this week, Francis offered to stay.

“Just so he doesn’t kill you.”

“It’s alright. Your mum will get suspicious. Think we’re starting a revolution or something.”

“’Toni.” Francis looked him straight in the eye. “I think the bloody t-shirt was suspicious enough.”

Antonio wagged his finger in front of him. “I washed it myself. And I can take care of Lovino by myself. You said it before, it’s not that difficult.”

“Well, my phone will be on –”

“Francis, you sound like your mother.”

“Fuck you too.”

He grinned, “You wish. And if you do come home to a dead body, remember that I was an athletic, striking young man with so much talent that the world would cringe.”

Francis shook his head. “I’m cringing.”

“Then get going. Roderich will be here in half an hour,” Antonio said, practically shoving him out of the door. “C’mon. You have people to humiliate out there. You’ll ruin their weekend if you don’t.”

“Alright, I’ll go,” he sighed, “And if you do die, I’m turning your room into a walk-in closet. God knows he owes me one of those.”

“Get out.”

And the house was his once more. He did enjoy the power of holding authority in the house. He had never experienced it before. Sure, he was his own person and he took on leadership on several occasions, but this was a different feeling. This was overwhelming.

~

The doorbell rang and this time he opened it with a sombreness he didn’t know dwelled within him. Roderich had a similarly resigned look on his face and Antonio followed his gaze downwards to Lovino, unsuccessfully hiding behind Roderich's leg. He wasn't a toddler, after all.

“Hello again. I’ll pick him up around the same time.”

Even his voice sounded depressed.

“Come on Lovino.”

But he didn't budge. 

"Lovino."

Nothing.

"Lovino. I told you to -"

And now Roderich was trying to seize him by the arm but Lovino wasn't going without a fight. They brawled for a minute before Roderich gave up and rubbed his temples. Out of sympathy, Antonio felt the need to intervene. 

“Lovino.”

His voice may have been thunder by the way it stunned Lovino. But honestly, it may have shocked the other two more. 

“Go inside,” Antonio spoke slowly. 

And without wasting a second, Lovino sauntered into the house.

“Wow,” Roderich mumbled, “How did you manage that?”

“Err, I don’t know.”

“Hm,” Roderich straightened himself up, “Well, I trust you.”

“Um, thanks. I guess.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

And he drove off again.

Antonio didn’t know why conversations with that man was so painful. He actually had to let out a sigh to feel comfortable again. Roderich was just so uptight and he felt so unlike himself when he interacted with him.

When he shut the door, Lovino was standing there, staring up at him. His arms were crossed, and he looked so confused with his eyebrows drawn that way. It was almost comical.

“You didn’t tell him,” he said.

“Tell him what?”

“That I… hurt you.”

His voice was quiet.

Antonio smiled.

Was this something akin to gratitude? Sympathy, perhaps? Even guilt? Whatever it was, it made him feel even more powerful, more confident that he could handle this.

“It’s nothing. Just don’t do it again. I thought we could get to know each other a bit more.”

He realised he had never really looked at Lovino’s face. He recognised the mess of his dark brown hair and the giant curl that stuck out like a thumb. No, it wasn’t quite brown… more chestnut. It was much lighter than Antonio’s own. But it was his expression that really stuck to him. Antonio didn’t really care for children; they were annoying bundles of plain annoyance. But Lovino had the look of a fighter, eyes bright and lips pulled into a line. His eyebrows may as well have been permanently drawn together.

“Do you like video games?”

“I’ve never played them.”

“Seriously?” Antonio blurted out, “Well, now we know what the first activity of the day is. C’mon. I’ll even let you pick which one we play.” 

~

It turned out that none of the games Antonio played were exactly ‘suitable’ for somebody under the age of twelve. Therefore, he had to search online for something simplistic, something that might appeal to somebody as particular as a boy who wouldn’t eat pizza because it ‘wasn’t real Italian food’.

“I unlocked a new one!” Lovino exclaimed, eyes glued on the console.

Antonio had stopped pretending to be interested a long time ago but he still muttered an unenthusiastic, “Wow, what did you unlock?”

“The recipe for spaghetti,” he announced proudly.

“Wow.”

“I’m hungry.”

“How could you not be?” Antonio groaned, tossing the ball he had been bouncing off the wall to the other side of the room. “You’ve been playing Cooking Mama for three hours straight. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone do that. And I think you’ve broken my console.”

Lovnio rolled his eyes.

“So what do you want to eat?”

“Real food.”

“And pray you, what is that?”

“I don’t know,” he scowled, “Something that isn’t half plastic.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met somebody who doesn’t like pizza.”

“I do like pizza,” he retorted, “That was just fake.”

“Urgh, I can’t be bothered with his conversation again. Chinese food. How’s that? That real enough for you? Or are you going to complain about MSG as well?”

Lovino opened his mouth but then muttered, “I’ll have a chow mein.”

“Right then.”

They fell into silence that gradually built up in awkwardness. Antonio prided himself in being a social person, never making anybody feel uncomfortable – least of all, himself. But this one kid was just a nightmare. It was all his weakness put into one.

“So… how are you?”

Lovino glared at him, as if saying: did you actually just ask that?

He cleared his throat to rid the embarrassment, not that it helped. “I heard that you have a brother.”

“I do,” Lovino narrowed his eyes even further, “What about it?”

“Do you… get along?”

“We’re fine.”

“Ah, I see. That’s good.”

Silence again. The sound of Cooking Mama in the background only made it weirder.

“When I came along, Francis and I would always fight. We get along fine now but there were a few rough patches, at least from where I was standing. But time –”

The pleasant background music cut off.

“Don’t fucking try that with me.” Lovino growled menacingly.

He had a face of a lion, prowling towards Antonio. And although he wasn’t scared, Antonio kept his guard up. He immediately lifted his arm to the side where his injury was.

“I won’t put up with your bullshit.”

“What’s wrong with you? I’m just trying to be nice.”

“I didn’t ask you to, you bastard. So stop with your ‘I’m so wise and kind’ act, because nobody wants your fake ass persona.”

He took a deep breath but that still didn’t calm the spark ignited within him. There was only so much insult he could take from a brat who literally understood nothing about him.

“There’s a reason why you’re here and your brother isn’t. You’re a fucking menace,” he spat out with as much venom as he could.

Lovino didn’t answer but Antonio didn’t care. If a nine-year-old kid could have such a mouth on him, then he could hear the truth. He didn’t need flattering or praises or gentle words. He could have it as it was. He should know he was a wave of bad luck on Antonio – and he had had a lot of that. Antonio slammed the door shut behind him.

~

Once again, Antonio found himself staring up at his bedroom ceiling on a Sunday morning, feeling kind of like an asshole and kind of like a loser for giving up. He had even drafted a version of the speech he would give Mrs Bonnefoy.

‘I would rather be grounded for the rest of my life than have to deal with the little demon,’ was how it would start.

The money wasn’t really enough to satisfy him either. He would rather work at some sweatshop than do this, where every moment he just felt like tearing out his hair. Maybe this was how Roderich felt. No wonder he looked so old.

But then he would think about what an asshole Roderich was. He was abandoning a kid because he wasn’t talented. What a pretentious shit. And what an asshole Antonio was for rubbing it in Lovino’s face.

He let out an audible groan and jumped to his feet.

It used to be so easy to ignore what anybody said and do whatever he wanted. What was it about that Cooking Mama loving kid could he not ignore? What about that swearing nightmare was vaguely cute? What was worth him doing? He couldn’t answer any of it but at the same time, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t care. He did. And he needed to apologize. He had hurt the feelings of the boy he was supposed to babysit. Because he did the one thing he knew best not to do: pity.

Begrudgingly, Antonio lifted himself from his bed.

“This is so unlike me,” he grumbled to himself.

He needed to just get this out of his system. He was overthinking, and it wasn’t his style. So without another contemplation, he made his way into the living room, where the background music from the television was echoing.

“Lovino,” he said, deliberately pronouncing syllabically.

The boy lifted his head from the television to him with a permanent scowl. He sure wasn’t making this any easier.

Antonio took a deep breath in. He just had to say what he needed to say.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“You know, I’m not trying to… belittle you, or whatever.”

Lovino was still glaring at him.

“I don’t. I don’t feel bad for – Wait, no. I don’t sympathise – That’s not right either,” he sighed in defeat and threw himself on the sofa next to Lovino. It was going to be a long talk. “Lovino, I’ve not talked about this to anybody. You’re the first one. You’re special, okay?”

And although it wasn’t enough to coax forgiveness out of him, it definitely piqued his interest. Lovino was eyeing him, rather like a cat would its prey and Antonio was glad at least this tactic worked.

“I’m not family with the Bonnefoys.”

“No, really? Antonio Fernandez Carriedo? Not a Bonnefoy?”

He narrowed his eyes. “How did you know my full name?”

“You have letters, dumbass.”

“Right… When did you go through my letters?” he exclaimed.

Lovino rolled his eyes in response. Well, it seemed to be a lost cause anyway.

“Okay. I’m originally from Spain.”

Lovino jumped up from his seat, frustration written across his face.

“The reason you’ve not talked about this to anyone is because you’re stating the goddamn obvious. Can I fucking go now?”

And although his instincts were screaming at him to just punch-him-in-the-goddamn-face-already, Antonio reached out for him instead. It was a gentle hand, barely grazing his tiny wrists. He didn’t want to call it pity, or even sympathy. There wasn’t a name for it, but Antonio just needed to touch him.

“Lovino, can you hear me out? Please?”

Antonio was never an emotional guy. The amount of feeling he was putting into his face was making him inwardly cringe, but it felt necessary.

And sure enough, Lovino slowly sat himself down, not shaking the light hold off.

“You have two minutes.”

Antonio gave him a small smile and he turned away, flushed. He couldn’t understand what the purpose of Lovino’s headstrong attitude was. It was so meaningless.

He cleared his throat.

“Both my parents were from Spain. My real parents. And we lived together in a beautiful house in the countryside with our own farm. We would plant tomatoes in it every year and when it came to harvest season, we got the freshest tomatoes.”

Antonio could picture the scene in his head, the nostalgia filling him up.

“We would take our siesta together and when we always woke up just before sunset. The field would be glowing red and for me, that was heaven.”

“Hm.”

Lovino didn’t look very impressed, but he sat there patiently, arms crossed.

“When I was nine, my parents got into a car accident. They died before they got to the hospital.”

He heard Lovino’s breath hitch - like most people’s when he told the story. But at least with a child, he wouldn’t be given the ‘what a hard thing for you to go through’ or ‘I’m so sorry that happened’. With a child, it was just shock.

“You were nine.”

“Spooky coincidence?” Antonio gave him a small smile but got nothing back. "When I was your age, I was pretty much confined in a hospital."

Lovino just looked stunned, his eyes bulging.

Antonio felt slightly embarrassed.

“After that, I moved around from house to house, relative to relative and in the end got put up for adoption. Of course, that didn’t work because I was too old and the family ties were too complicated. So I was fostered by the Bonnefoys. I moved here to Italy at the age of thirteen.”

Lovino had a bewildered look on his face.

“And you…?”

“What?”

“No, I get it,” he mumbled, “Coping.”

Lovino had stopped looking at him now and inside, Antonio felt a little grateful. He didn’t know how to react either. But it felt nice, to know that there was somebody like you.

“For a nine-year-old boy you’re very mature.”

“Well I have to look after Feli. Nonno said so. I’m the oldest Vargas now,” he replied, expression stern. He had even straightened up his back like an owl would in face of predators.

Antonio chuckled at the mental image.

“You're allowed to ask for help. I know that getting sympathy feels like shit, but really, you’re going to feel shit anyway.”

Lovino scoffed.

Antonio bit his lip. He needed to try. At least for the first few weeks. At least for Mrs Bonnefoy. At least so he could figure out a way to hang out with Gilbert.

“We’re going to be stuck together for a while,” he admitted rather bashfully, “We might as well get along. I’ve said I’m sorry, and I assume you’re mature enough that you can forgive me.”

Lovino frowned for the longest time. The anticipation was killing him.

How hard was it for a kid to just say yes?

If he said no, then it would be the end of the line for Antonio. He would never be allowed to leave the house, never be allowed to enjoy freedom, never be allowed to express himself, to vent, to be.

Then Lovino jerked his head to the side.

“If I have to.”

Antonio let out a sigh of relief. Some peace at last.

“Great, then we can have whatever you want for dinner. You want to look at some take-away menus or -”

“Tomatoes.”

“Huh?”

Lovino was pink in the face again. He was staring at the ground.

“I want to have tomatoes…on my pasta.”

Antonio split into a wide grin, completely uncontainable. He could already tell that things were changing for the better now, because otherwise how would you explain the butterflies in his stomach? 

~

Antonio knew how to make pasta. It was the simplest thing to cook after all. Therefore, when Lovino came barging into the kitchen and demanded he was doing it wrong, he protested in an attempt to save his ego.

“You put boiling water in,” Lovino stared at him, “That’s wrong. And what the fuck did you put in the fucking water? You’re doing it all wrong.”

“How?”

“Okay first,” Lovino pointed at the pot bubbling away, “Get rid of that thing. Next, give me a pot and some pasta. And then I’ll tell you step by step what you’ve done wrong.”

“Seriously?”

Lovino just stared.

“Alright, alright. I’ll toss it,” Antonio sighed as he lifted the pot away, “Honestly, you’re so picky.”

“It’s called having standards.”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed as he rinsed the pot and handed it over to the small boy. His little face was dangerously close to the stove and while Antonio wanted to warn him against it, he was also intrigued by how Lovino wanted to improve pasta.

How the hell did you improve pasta anyway? Pasta was pasta.

“So first, you put in cold water and bring it to a boil.”

“What?” Antonio exclaimed, “I literally just had the fucking thing at a boil. Are you fucking serious?”

He just glared at him until Antonio finally did as he was told.

“Now add oil.”

“Oil?”

He gave him the same look and he conceded quickly this time. Whatever would bring pasta into his mouth quicker would be appreciated.

“Just a little bit, you dumbass. We’re not trying to fry the damn thing. Now leave it there and make your sauce. Or do I need to teach you how to do that too?”

What a sassy little asshole.

“And you’re just going to stand there?” he questioned, looking at the boy suspiciously, “Cause if you are, you may as well help me chop these tomatoes or make the salad.”

“Hmph.” But he was rolling up his sleeves. “Don’t blame me if this kitchen burns down.”

Antonio smiled to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Lovino kept frowning at him, even as Antonio passed him a handful of tomatoes and a small knife.

“I just thought it would be a good way to die: trying to cook tomatoes.”

“Technically, it would the pasta that would burn,” he corrected, “So it’d be death by cooking pasta.”

Antonio snorted, “What a fitting way to die for an Italian.”

Lovino fell silent.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry…”

“That would be a fucking disgrace,” Lovino replied curtly and sliced the tomatoes in half. The juices squirted towards Antonio and he had to jump out of the way to avoid having his shirt ruined again. He took a good look at the boy chopping (or rather, mincing) tomatoes. Lovino didn’t look upset, just perplexed. And to be honest, he seemed like a reasonable person – a little hard to talk to, but not impossible. They just needed time.

“Hey, listen. I’m –”

“Can you stop walking on eggshells around me? I thought we already had this conversation,” Lovino grunted, “And I thought we were making pasta. You’re such a lousy babysitter. I bet you’ve never worked a day in your fucking life. You’re even worse than Roderich.”

Antonio couldn’t help but smile. He was beginning to see through it now: the gentle words concealed before a barrage of cussing.

“Ah, well you’re in luck. I’m not your babysitter.”

Lovino stopped for a second and glanced up at Antonio. His face had split into a massive grin.

“From now on, I am your boss. And you will be my henchman,” he declared proudly, “That’s better than babysitter.”

“Moron. Who wants you as a boss?”

But Lovino’s face was beginning to redden and the pasta hadn’t even began to boil.

~

“Video games.”

“We’ve done that already.”

“Water guns?”

“It’s winter, you dumbass.”

“Movies?”

“Why do you even bother bringing them if it’s just rom-coms?”

“Blame Francis. The Bonnefoys have shit taste in movies,” groaned Antonio finally, giving up, “So what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

He groaned again. The ambiance at dinner was nice. They had pleasantly eaten the pasta which Antonio magically managed to make without burning and Lovino even refrained from cussing at him for a while. And now that they were full and satisfied, it seemed the tension returned.

After lying on the ground in defeat, he asked, “What do you do at home? With Roderich and your brother.”

“Nothing much.”

“What about, like, homework? Or hobbies?”

Lovino had drawn his eyebrows into a line again. “Feli likes to draw and paint and sing and clean.”

Antonio scoffed, “He sounds like Snow White.”

And when Lovino threw him a dirty look, he asked again, “Well, what do you like to do?”

“I’m not interesting,” he grumbled, turning himself over so he wasn’t looking at Antonio. “I just look after Feli and I suck at everything else.”

“You don’t have to be good at something to enjoy it.”

“Well…” The words drifted away from Lovino.

Antonio smiled a little, knowing he had finally stunned the boy into silence. It felt like a great achievement somehow.

“Then we’ll do things I like,” Antonio concluded, standing up. He picked Lovino up by the arms and couldn’t help but notice he was extremely light.

“Let me go, bastard!”

“We are going to play football.”

“It’s the middle of fucking winter!”

“Sport is for all weather.”

Antonio whistled as he unlocked the back door and made his way out. The chill ran deep into his spine, and he felt Lovino tremble in his arms.

“I don’t have shoes on!” he screamed.

“You can run barefoot,” Antonio rolled his eyes, “Like our ancestors.”

“Our ancestors were monkeys!”

“Monkeys can play football. I’m sure I’ve seen a documentary on it before somewhere –”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

“You’re right,” Antonio grinned, “The point is we need to find a football.”

~

What seemed like a few months ago turned about to be years ago and the football he had was long deflated. They ended up scurrying to the garden shed in hopes to find a pump but instead compromised with a big red bouncy ball.

“How are we supposed to use that?” Lovino narrowed his eyes at the dusty thing and simultaneously rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“We’re going to play football. Grab some stuff to make a goal.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Just do it,” Antonio exasperated, “It feels like only a while ago Francis and I would fight over these games. I mean, obviously I won but it was fun to have a little competition.”

Lovino snorted.

“Now go grab those rocks so we can get playing.”

He kept grumbling but at least he did as he was told. Antonio grinned as he balanced the bouncy ball on the tip of his toes. It was really nostalgic. He used to live for football – every morning was training, every afternoon was extra practice and every night was watching football.

“Hey bastard, are we playing or what?”

“If you keep calling me that, I won’t go easy on you.”

Lovino had the audacity to stick out his tongue and then cross his arms. “As if that would make a difference. Just kick the damn ball.”

As pathetic as it was to feel achievement when you beat a kid at a game you’ve practiced for years, victory was sweet in Antonio’s mouth. He launched the ball between the rocks in the first kick.

“One-nil,” he smirked.

Lovino was still standing there in a fierce scowl. But he turned to fetch the football anyway. When he was back, he had a fire in his eye that Antonio couldn’t ignore.

“You’re on.”


	4. Don't Nurse Him

“February is technically spring,” Lovino sniffed.

Antonio let out an exasperated sigh and held out the thermometer in front of the sick boy. “It doesn’t mean you don’t dress up warmly.”

“I’m not going to wear a fucking scarf and gloves. Nobody wears those in February.”

“Well, nobody else catches a cold this time of the year.”

Lovino growled the best he could. “Colds aren’t periodical.”

“And you have to stay in bed today. I’m serious. My room.”

“What the fuck, Antonio?” he managed to cough out, “You’re not my fucking mother.”

“Well I can’t have you infecting the house. I’ll message Roderich to see if he can come down earlier to pick you up –”

“Don’t,” he snapped, “You can’t bother him.”

“Okay.”

Antonio bit his lip as he considered his options. How were you supposed to take care of a headstrong boy like him anyway? Since he came here, he hadn’t needed to look after anybody and he had forgotten the privileges of that.

“I won’t tell Roderich to come for you on the condition that you listen to everything I say today.”

Lovino blinked several times before responding, rather foggily, “Yeah, whatever.”

“Do you want me to carry you to my room or can you walk there?”

Since he still had the energy to cuss and growl, he slowly made his way to Antonio’s room. Once he was there, his first response was: “It smells like horseshit.”

“Well, you’re sleeping here. Get in bed.”

Begrudgingly, he clambered under the sheets.

“Okay, you stay in here and sleep. I’m going to get some medicine.”

“I’m not that sick. I’ve been like this for the week and I haven’t died yet.”

The whole week?

“You didn’t tell anybody? What about your brother?” he frowned.

“I didn’t want to spread it to Feli,” he muttered and turned to face the wall.

“And you didn’t tell…”

What a pointless question. Of course Lovino didn’t tell Roderich. And there was nobody else to tell.

Antonio felt his heart clench.

“I’m going to get you medicine and you’re going to stay in bed and eat it.”

He mumbled something in response (which was probably an insult) but Antonio didn’t hear it. He quickly made his way downstairs to find pills.

Did a nine-year-old count as a child or adult? Was the cut-off at twelve, ten or five? He wasn’t sure. And were kids allowed to have more than one at once? Who could he ask?

He ended up online for answers but second-guessed them all. None of it really made sense to him and he couldn’t even remember the last time he was sick for reference. Which meant there was only one person he could rely on.

He quickly dialled the number and let it ring. Impatiently, he tapped his foot.

“Hey –”

“Francis, I don’t know what the fuck to do,” Antonio exclaimed, “How the hell do you look after a sick kid? Are there like rules to what drugs you can give? I don’t even think we have anything for children in this house. Fuck.”

“Antonio, are you fucking serious right now?” he could hear Francis yelling above the music behind him and the cacophony of girls’ screaming.

“Yes. I can’t call your mum, she’ll just start yelling and come back home.”

Then he heard a sigh.

“Alright, I’ll come back. Just make sure the brat is comfortable and that his fever doesn’t get higher. I’ll go by the pharmacy on my way back.”

“Okay, thank you. Thanks, Francis. I owe you. Thank you.”

“Just calm down, Antonio. Keep your cool.”

And then he hung up.

But that was easier said than done. There was suddenly all this responsibility hanging over his head and he wasn’t sure if he could keep to it. He wasn’t sure if he could keep Lovino alive. Once he had taken a few steadying breaths, he entered the bedroom again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like death,” Lovino squeezed out, “My insides are all jelly.”

Antonio couldn’t help but smile at his description. Because what else would death feel like except jelly?

He pressed the back of his hand against Lovino’s cheek. They were rosy now and his breathing was heavier. Had he really only left the room for five minutes to call?

“You’re really warm. You want some ice?”

“I feel cold,” he muttered.

“Drink some water,” he urged, trying to find some solution. Wasn’t water the answer to everything?

By the time Antonio had raised the glass to his chapped lips, Lovino wasn’t even alert anymore. Nothing he said made sense, just mindless grumbling.

“Come on, just a little more,” Antonio pressed.

But his lips were barely moving.

“One more sip…”

“Nonno…”

Antonio placed the glass down.

There was nothing he do now. He was absolutely powerless.

~

When he heard keys jingling, Antonio quietly left Lovino’s side and rushed downstairs. Francis didn’t even have time to take the keys out of the lock when Antonio lunged for the plastic bag he was holding.

“Where’s the medicine?”

Francis let out an exasperated sigh as he shut the door behind him. “And to think I left a party just to be treated this way.”

Antonio tried to suppress an eyeroll but appealed to him anyway. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Did you get everything?”

“Yeah, fruits and vegetables and all that crap.”

“I’ll take the medication first. Can you make some soup or something?”

Francis frowned with concern but seeing that Antonio was absolutely serious, he gave a helpless shrug. “I can try.”

“Thanks.”

Then he was clambering up the stairs, right by the bedside again. The chair was still warm from when he left seconds ago.

“Lovino, can you sit up? You need to take your medicine.”

There was no response.

“Lovino? Lovino?”

“Mm…”

“Shit, maybe I should take you to the hospital,” Antonio mumbled.

“Nonno…”

The little huff of his breath was enough for Antonio to huddle around him again. He cracked two pills out of the packaging and levered the little body up.

“Come on, your Nonno needs you to eat these,” he cooed.

“Nonno?”

“Yes. Nonno.”

And he watched Lovino’s features soften like he had never seen before. For once, he really did look like a little boy with such an innocent smile on his face.

Antonio felt like he had to look away while he fed him the pills.

“Now get some rest,” he muttered as he tucked him back into the bundle of blankets.

“Nonno?”

Antonio didn’t want to respond. But Lovino’s broken voice was calling out again, and it shattered his heart to hear it.

“Yes?”

“Why are you always gone?”

Antonio had to swallow otherwise he couldn’t breathe.

A thousand thoughts were racing through his head. He always had it in him to be honest. He wanted people to be honest with him and he understood that he needed to treat others the same way. But when a little boy with a running fever was asking so weakly, could he really tell him that the person he wanted to see wasn't here? 

“I…”

“Why are you calling me Lovino?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” Antonio finally responded, “Lovino?”

“Lovi…”

“Right, Lovi. Go to sleep.”

“Okay… Will you be here… when I wake up?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Okay…”

Although he didn’t really want to leave him alone, Antonio felt like he had to get out of that room. It was suffocating him in a way he had never experienced. It wasn’t like the time he was trapped under water. No, this was like his lung just refused to take in air. His legs felt wobbly.

When he finally managed to get downstairs, the whole area was wrapped up in the warm scent of chicken soup. Antonio let out a sigh of relief. At least Francis had taken care of that.

“Francis, thanks.”

The tall man was lounging about the kitchen, typing rapidly on his phone. When he saw Antonio he smiled.

“No bother. But you now owe me around a thousand favours. I was supposed to hook up with this hottie tonight.”

Antonio rolled his eyes, thankful that the weakness had left him now. Francis could always make him feel more like the person he ought to be.

“Well, I’m sorry and I really appreciate you being here.”

“And how is the little horror?”

“A little better, I think. He’s talking.”

“Good.”

There was something in his tone that made Antonio curious. It just didn’t sound sincere and knowing Francis, he probably had some thoughts he wanted to share.

“What is it?”

“It's nothing.”

“Francis, for fuck’s sake. Don't make me grill it out of you.”

“It’s just…” Francis flipped his phone around and placed it on the table. Now Antonio knew it was serious. 

“I’ve never seen you this agitated, over anybody. When you called, I actually thought he had finally stabbed you and you wanted me to call the police.”

“We get along fine now,” Antonio assured him.

“You met him last week.”

“We had time to bond.”

“But you can’t deny you got off to a rocky start.”

“He’s just a boy. Rebellious stage of life.”

“Like you.”

Antonio sighed in defeat, “Yes, I think he’s like me. Gil’s right. You know, just now, in his sleep, he was calling for his Nonno.”

“Nonno, that’s…?”

“I think that’s the grandpa Gil was talking about. He must really miss him. And he’s probably just hiding it all but it’s a heavy burden.”

Francis stared at Antonio for the longest time before he heaved a sigh.

“I know you sympathise with him but he’s not you.”

“Losing someone close to you when you’re that age is not something anybody else can relate to.”

Although it wasn’t supposed to be bitter or even hurtful in any way, Antonio could see the way Francis flinched. He wished he hadn’t said anything but the truth remained. This wasn’t where Francis had a say.

“I just want to be there for him,” Antonio tried to justify.

“Hey, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It just took me a bit off guard. I didn’t expect you to be that worried over a cold. It sounded like he caught measles or something.”

Antonio gawked at him. “You think he has measles? Is that still a thing?”

“For heaven’s sake, Antonio, he has a cold. Everybody gets colds. You need to sit down.”

Antonio crossed his arms. “And since when did you get a fever from a cold?”

He shrugged. “He’s a kid. They do that.”

“Get fevers?”

“Yes!” he exasperated for the last time, “They get sick all the time. It’s what they do. Now go take a shower. You look like shit.”

Antonio gave him a pointed look but agreed in the end. He felt a little icky and didn’t want to be glued down with germs. Plus, the fatigue from running around was finally settling in and his bones felt like rubber. Who knew looking after somebody could be so much work?

“Will you look after Lovi while I’m gone?”

“’Toni, I doubt he’s going to get up and start running away.”

Then, seeing that Antonio was glaring and probably wouldn’t leave until Francis crossed his heart and hoped to die, he sighed.

“Alright. Okay. Now go shower and I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Thanks.”

“From afar.”

~

After the speediest shower Antonio had ever taken, he made his way quietly into his room where Francis was leaning against the wall furthest from the bed. He had a tired look on his face already. But the little boy sound asleep in bed looked much better. Antonio smiled.

“Thanks Francis.”

“No bother. He was fast asleep when I came in anyway.” He straightened up and stretched his arms.

“He looks a lot better,” Antonio noted as he brushed away the strands of hair glued to his forehead. It reminded Antonio that he would probably have to wipe him down once he was awake.

“Wanna bunk in my room tonight?” Francis offered.

“Nah, I’ll stay here. Just in case.”

“Suit yourself. Have you called his family?”

“He told me not to.”

“And you decided a child’s opinion was the best opinion?”

Antonio frowned at Francis’ condescending tone. But he had a good point. He had an obligation to tell Roderich. Yet there was something in him that couldn’t dismiss Lovino’s outburst as a ‘child’s opinion’. It couldn’t be, not to Antonio at least.

He chewed on his lip as he considered his options. Francis gave an exasperated sigh in return.

“Whatever. I’m calling in for the night. Only wake me if it’s urgent, otherwise I will kill you,” he warned half-heartedly.

“Thanks.”

He went back to looking at Lovino’s rosy face. His complexion wasn’t too bad now, but he still reminded Antonio of a tomato. At least his breathing was even.

“’Toni.”

“Uh huh?”

“Are you…?”

The door creaked open.

“Never mind. It’s been a long night. Remember to sleep.”

Antonio scoffed, “I’m not a baby.”

“You act like one.”

Antonio rolled his eyes. He touched Lovino’s forehead gently, pleased by how the temperature had gone down. All the while, he could feel Francis’ gaze burning into him. But then he left the room soundlessly, thinking how strange it was. But strange was not necessarily bad.

~

“You called them?” Lovino coughed.

“Well I wouldn’t be a good babysitter if I didn’t tell Roderich. He pays me.”

Lovino still glared at him.

“Sometimes you have to betray others for your own benefit.”

“That’s the whole point of betrayal. Nobody betrays somebody just because they feel like it.” Then he fell into another coughing fit, long enough that he had to rub his chest.

Antonio gave him a glass of water.

“He’ll be here soon. They rushed back as soon as they heard.”

“… Really?”

Lovino looked so small to him. His voice was so quiet.

“Of course,” Antonio smiled reassuringly.

As if the timing couldn’t get better, the doorbell rang.

“That should be them.”

He took the care to cover Lovino back up, throw away all the remaining tissues surrounding his bed, pick up the used bowls and cup and packets that had merged into one giant hulk before making his way downstairs.

“Antonio?”

He stopped and looked at the bundle on the bed.

“Yeah?”

Lovino had hidden his face in the covers and his voice was muffled but Antonio could make out the whispered, “Thank you.”

And Antonio couldn’t help but let out a grin. Lovino was just too much for him.

~

“Thank you for looking after him, Antonio. I hope it wasn’t much trouble.”

Roderich was massaging his temples. And if he had looked old before, now he looked ancient.

“It’s fine. He was quite sick a while ago but he’s up now.”

“I told him, you know. I told him not to go outside but he was adamant about playing football for some stupid reason. He’s not even into sports. Kids these days… He just doesn’t listen.”

“Football…” Antonio mumbled to himself. He could feel the guilt dropping like a stone.

“The latest trend I guess,” Roderich shrugged, “Anyway, Feliciano is very worried about him. Once we got the call, he demanded we pick him up immediately. May he come in?”

“Uh, yeah! Definitely. Come in.”

And like how he had met Lovino, another little boy appeared from behind Roderich’s long legs. He was trembling, tears streaking his cheeks and whimpering, “W-where is he?”

“Upstairs,” Antonio answered, sympathy instantly settling in. He almost looked identical to Lovino, except his hair was a lighter tone and the curl tilting a different direction. He seemed to look paler too, somewhat unhealthier but they shared the same vulnerable face. This was Lovino’s brother after all.

“I’ll take you to him. Roderich, please come in.”

He opened the door wider for the two guests and made his way upstairs. As soon as he had reached the door, Feliciano had shoved past Antonio’s long legs and made a leap for the bed.

“Lovi! Are you feeling okay?” the little boy exclaimed, desperately making contact with his brother.

“Hey, stop it!” Lovino grunted.

Antonio couldn’t help but smile at the display of affection. They were completely different people it seemed.

“But Lovi, I heard you were really ill. I thought… you were going to die,” he whispered.

As much as those words should only be a joke, Lovino turned solemn. Antonio didn’t like that look on his face. It was like when he first came here, all too serious, much too hard for his age.

“Idiot, I’m not going to die,” Lovino responded, “It’s just a cold.”

Antonio didn’t know whether to mention that he had a high fever and was hallucinating but luckily, Roderich pulled him aside.

“This is just a token of appreciation. Please take it.”

Roderich was shoving notes into Antonio’s hand. As soon as he realised what was transpiring, he drew back.

“No, no. It’s what I should be doing. Plus, I genuinely enjoy Lovino’s company.”

“Oh. In that case you’ll have to tell me what you’ve been doing with him. I can’t seem to get through to him at all. He’s such a difficult kid,” Roderich sighed once more.

Antonio thought back to the first day he had taken care of Lovino and imagined if he had to relive that again and again and again. And there were two kids, twice the work. He supposed Roderich had kept himself vaguely sane.

“He’s… a little complicated, but he’s not a bad kid,” Antonio offered.

Roderich gave him a weak smile. “I’m glad you think that. You know, I feel like after he’s spent time with you, he’s a little less… distant.”

And as much as Antonio didn’t want to admit that those words gave him flowers of pride, it did.

 


	5. Don't Invite Him

“Remember to call Roderich and tell him you can’t do next week.”

“Why?” he exclaimed, holding his spoon of cereal in mid-air as Mrs Bonnefoy tutted disapprovingly.

“It’s your birthday next week. Did you forget?”

“No, I didn’t. I just… didn’t know it was on the weekend.”

He could hear Francis sniggering into his own bowl of cereal. If Mrs Bonnefoy wasn’t watching, he would shove Francis’ head in there and watch him cry over his ruined hair.

“Have you made plans yet?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“Honey.”

He knew that tone.

“It’s your sixteenth birthday – it needs to be special. We need to have a proper celebration, with cake and presents and a party.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Antonio shook his head a little too viciously, “I mean, I appreciate the offer but it’s really okay.”

“Then what would you like to do?” she frowned and it frustrated Antonio that he was making her upset by not trying to make her upset. “A nice dinner? A night out? A house party?”

“’Toni, the house party,” Francis urged, desperation in his eyes.

“Francis.”

“Sorry.”

“What would you like to do, Antonio?”

He pondered on the thought quickly, dismissing a night out altogether. Although he supposed having a fancy legal drink would be quite nice. But…

“I would rather just look after Lovino.”

“Babysit?” Mrs Bonnefoy raised a brow and then looked at Francis. When her son shrugged nonchalantly and continued munching his cereal, she cleared her thought. “Well… if that’s what you want. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Antonio smiled gratefully, “It’s actually really fun.”

“Oh…”

But she quickly smiled warmly.

“Of course you do. Antonio’s such a responsible boy. You ought to learn something, Francis.”

He scoffed.

“Francis.”

“Sorry.”

She clapped her hands together. “Shall I bake a cake for us all to have?”

“Us all?”

“Of course! Francis and I will still be in the house to celebrate with you, honey.”

Francis frowned, “No I won’t. I’ll be out. With your friends.”

“Francis.”

Antonio smirked, “Well, be sure to give them my regards.”

“I will.”

“Tell me what kind of cake you would like. I’ve already got your present sorted so I don’t want to leave anything last minute. And what should we make for dinner…?”

“Oh, you didn’t have to –”

“Nonsense. It’s my son’s sixteenth birthday!” she beamed at him.

Antonio smiled uncomfortably and ate the spoonful of cereal that had hovered above the bowl for the duration of their awkward conversation.

~

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Gilbert yelled, once more alerting the entire school to their minute issues. “You’re staying home? On your birthday? On a fucking Saturday no less? And when you got permission?”

“Yell louder, I don’t think the headteacher heard you,” Antonio hissed, “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” he bellowed, glaring at his best friend. “What’s yours?”

Francis patted him on the shoulder with a disappointed look. “Told you he lost it.”

“I haven’t. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. I’m serious.”

“Which is the same as crazy,” Francis elaborated.

“No, it’s not.”

“How could you miss an opportunity to get smashed?” Gilbert exasperated, tugging at his light hair, “Oh Jesus, what have I done wrong?”

“A lot of things,” Antonio glowered, “And we get smashed anyway, regardless of occasion. Isn’t that how that whole fiasco started?”

“You need to stop bringing that up,” Gilbert sighed, finally getting tired enough to sit down and remove himself from the centre of attention. “So what now? I just never get to hang out with you guys? Ever? Not even your fucking sixteenth birthday?”

“I’ll try work something out with Mrs Bonnefoy,” Antonio mumbled, slightly moved that Gilbert missed him enough.

“Oh, so I can meet the little dude who kicked your ass,” Gilbert cackled.

And that sympathy dissipated quicker than a light switch.

“Don’t be a bad influence.”

He laughed again. “What the hell, ‘Toni. Are you his fucking mother now?”

“He may as well be,” Francis sighed, “You should have seen him babying him this week when he was sick. Listen, ‘Toni, can’t you just leave him for one week and come out with us? It’s been more than a month now. You’ve been the ideal student: showing up for class, part-time job, detention-less.”

“I was suspended last month.”

“Are you listening to yourself, ‘Toni?” Francis heaved, “You’ve become my mother.”

“I’m not a damn parent.”

“Then let me see this kid,” Gilbert grumbled.

“Alright, alright. Jesus, you guys are drama queens. But only if we can get Mrs Bonnefoy to approve and you keep it PG.”

“He ripped your stitches, swore at you and you still think we need to keep it PG?”

“He’s nine.”

“Deal.”

~

The week sped by with Gilbert constantly nagging Antonio about meeting Lovino, and Antonio couldn’t wait until he got away from it. When Roderich drove up, he had already swung open the door. Perhaps he was a little too eager, but Antonio was never one to hide his feelings.

“Hello!”

The doors of the little blue car opened slowly and Roderich came out first.

“Good afternoon, Antonio.”

Antonio scratched the back of his neck in nervousness. It was like Roderich never knew how to relax. Honestly, how the hell did he know Gilbert?

Then two almost identical children came out of the car.

“Oh.” Antonio narrowed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing double. “Feli, was it?”

“Feliciano,” Roderich corrected.

“Just call me Feli!” the little one chirruped.

He was actually a lot smaller than Lovino now that he was bouncing towards the doorstep. Lovino had been left behind to saunter towards him. But Feliciano’s little smile was so contagious that Antonio dropped down to a crouch to hold out a hand.

“I’m Antonio. Just call me ‘Toni then.”

“Big Brother ‘Toni,” he beamed, “Nice to meet you.”

“Are you dropping Feli off as well, Roderich?” he inquired as professionally as he could. But really, he was excited by the prospect of looking after this little angel.

“Oh no, Feli asked to see you.”

Now he frowned.

“What for?”

The little boy stayed quiet.

“Feliciano,” Roderich said in a warning tone.

“I, um… I wanted to apologise for rushing into your house and attacking you. That was rude of me. And Lovi told me you were taking care of him. I am very sorry.”

He was even bowing his head and it made Antonio feel worse.

“Not at all! It’s great that Lovino has such a caring brother.”

The little boy innocently blushed and gazed down at his feet. He looked more like a cherub than anything else. It was only when Roderich cleared his throat that Antonio realised he was staring too much.

“Anyway, I’ll be entrusting Lovino to you again. My thanks as usual,” Roderich continued.

“My pleasure,” Antonio smiled, “Where is he?”

Roderich frowned as he glanced behind him. “Jeez, he’s always running off. I swear he was just behind me…”

“I’m right here, dumbass.”

Antonio lightened up hearing Lovino’s voice. He sounded well, more like himself now.

“Ah, well. I’ll pick him up tomorrow as usual if nothing goes astray.”

“I assure you it won’t,” Antonio smiled.

And surprisingly, he received a hint of a smile back. This time less tired, less stressed, less… polite. It was a smile of an old friend.

“Thank you.”

~

  
“Your brother was really sweet. He was really worried about you. Roderich said he couldn’t sleep that night worrying over you.”

“Huh.”

“He’s such a good boy.”

“Yeah.”

“Should we order a pizza today?”

“Sure.”

Antonio frowned. Usually, Lovino would be fighting him to eat pasta instead or to make their own pizza. He always had a thing about the tomatoes being fake and the sauce being all-sugar.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

But he was curling away from him.

“Are you still feeling ill?”

“No.”

“Okay, that’s good. I’ll order the pizza then.”

“Sure.”

Antonio let out a sigh. It didn’t seem to matter how much they bonded, babysitting Lovino was still hard work. Maybe one day they could work on a better form of communication. Confrontation was a bad tactic.

Why was it worth all this effort to please one kid?

“Some friends might be coming over,” Antonio mentioned casually. Perhaps too casually. Lovino didn’t bother looking up from the game console after having been confined indoors.

“So?”

“Are you okay with that? They’re quite… something.”

“Very descriptive.”

“Well, there’s only two of them coming. You met Francis last week, kind of. They’re nice people and all; it’s just when they start partying they can be a bit…”

“Why are you having a party?” Lovino frowned.

“Oh. It’s my birthday.”

“Your birthday is next week?” He had paused the game now, eyes widened towards his babysitter. “What the fuck?”

“What? You all act like I’ve just announced some shocking news. Everybody has birthdays. It’s not that special.”

“Well what kind of teenager invites the kid they’re babysitting to their birthday party?” Lovino snapped, angrier than Antonio anticipated. “You should be out there doing something you like.”

“I like earning money.”

“Not the fucking point.”

“Well, I like babysitting you.”

He watched as Lovino’s face glowed red, all the way to his ears. Then he stomped his small feet, the very picture of a child throwing a tantrum.

“You!”

“What?”

“Argh!”

“So do you not want them round?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want!” he yelled, “It’s your birthday.”

“Why are you all making it such a big deal?” Antonio sighed, scratching the back of his head in resignation.

“Because you won’t say what you want!”

He was growing even redder if that was humanly possible, to the point where Antonio couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of how much he imitated a tomato. He kind of liked agitating him. 

“I want to have Francis and Gilbert and you there. And I want to spend a day with you guys. And cake. That’s it.”

“You’re clearly not a man of ambition,” Lovino rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you don’t have to have tons of desires to be ambitious,” Antonio defended, but he began recounting the times he had strived for anything in the back of his head, just so he could counter that statement. But truly there was not much and never anything drastic. Maybe he was a simpleton – not that it was a bad thing. It just meant he was easy to please. 

“So… you really want me there?” Lovino mumbled softly.

Antonio grinned without thinking, “Of course.”

“…Alright, but don’t think for a second that you’ll get anything from me, you tomato bastard!” he yelled again, “I won’t. No way in hell.”

He chuckled, “I wouldn’t dream of it. Now what should we have for dinner?”

“As long as it’s not pizza, don’t care.”

Antonio grinned. Now he was himself again. “Then let’s cook pasta to celebrate you getting better.”

“That’s nothing to celebrate,” he blubbered, face glowing red with embarrassment.

“Course it is. A nursing success for me and a boost for your immune system. Pasta for you and tomatoes for me.”

Lovino cracked a little smile but said nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick thank you to all of you reading :) It means so much to me that you enjoy it. A short chapter today but there is more coming this way!


	6. Don't Ignore Him

As Antonio wished, Mrs Bonnefoy cooked up a mini feast for lunch and baked an extravagant three tier cake that looked like it belonged at a wedding reception than it did at a birthday party. Antonio never felt more embarrassed when he was asked to take a picture beside it, at least until Mr Bonnefoy called from abroad just to wish him a happy birthday.

“You didn’t have to do that. I know you’re really busy with work,” Antonio answered shyly to the video call.

The pixelated man on the screen only smiled statically, “I couldn’t miss you opening the present we got you.”

“Present?”

Mrs Bonnefoy kneaded her hands on his shoulders and Antonio whirled around to look at her. She had a gentle smile on her face, her eyes full of love.

“Before you open it, I just wanted to tell you how much we love you. We’re so happy you are part of our family and no matter what, you are our son.”

“Thank you.”

It was an automated response, one that didn’t seem appropriate enough for this occasion. It was never enough with this couple. Francis was buried in his room, too far away to loosen up the atmosphere. Antonio felt like he was suffocating from love and what a strange thing that was. He was glad when Mrs Bonnefoy shuffled over to hand him a neatly wrapped box just so he could move his hands.

“It took a lot longer than we expected. The lawyer was adamant we touch nothing but we tried our utmost,” Mr Bonnefoy explained through the camera.

“Thank you,” he tried again but it was still weak, like fresh tea. Also, he couldn't help but wonder why they needed a lawyer in getting a birthday present. “Can I – Should I open it now?”

“Yes.”

He untied the ribbon binding the box and pulled back the lid, all the while holding his breath. He couldn’t fathom what was so important that meant they sat in silence. It was like a sacred ceremony, with the decorations and the intense staring. And when he saw what was inside, his expectations fell through and he blinked in confusion.

“Is this a necklace?”

He picked up the dainty cross with his fingers, the beads cascading over his hand. The crucifix was encrusted with jewels that glinted against the kitchen light, so ornate and crumbling that Antonio deduced it was an antique. He was never interested in jewellery, much less religious ornaments. He could only glance at the adults, awaiting an explanation.

“We got this in Spain, from a bishop,” Mr Bonnefoy answered the unspoken question, “The lawyer refused to speak to us about anything in the will. It was frustrating. But we really wanted to give you something to let you know we’re okay. We know you love your home and… and…”

He trailed off and disappeared from the screen.

“Mr Bonnefoy?”

“He’s an emotional man, far from home,” Mrs Bonnefoy gave a gentle smile. “What he means to say is that we would love it if you would stay with us forever. As our son. As a Bonnefoy.”

His breath hitched. But he was still confused. None of this made sense. And he was still holding a necklace in his hands. 

“But we only want that if you do. This rosary is to let you know we’re okay if you don’t want that. This is your choice. Don’t let us influence you.”

She let out a devilish smile, so much like Francis that Antonio wanted to smirk right back and get to plotting. But the wrinkles around her eyes were soft, more mature than Francis ever looked.

“We had to ask around the neighbourhood you lived in to find the priest that christened you. Your parents were devote Catholics, which made it quite easy to explain the situation. Everyone was very sympathetic and gave us this rosary – the one your parents wore.”

Antonio found that he couldn’t speak.

“We thought you might like a keepsake since you’re so far away from your home. But I would love it if you would consider this home as well.”

“I…”

He really wanted to respond. He really wanted to thank them sincerely. He even wanted to risk it all and say he loved them too and would love it if he could be adopted as a Bonnefoy. But when he stared down at the rosary, the value of it suddenly sky high, no words came to mind. Only vague images of his parents floated around in his head, flooding his brain. They were murky like pond water, but from the distance, it was truly a beautiful scene.

He wasn’t sure when Mr Bonnefoy said goodbye or when Mrs Bonnefoy gave him a quick peck and headed off or when the rosary wrapped itself around his neck. It was only when Francis came downstairs did he feel grounded.

“Whoa, ‘Toni. What the fuck? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” he mumbled, rubbing at his face self-consciously.

“You need to talk about it?”

“Not today.”

Francis nodded, “Cool. Gil will be here in half an hour. When’s the little twerp getting here?”

“Oh crap, what time is it?”

“About five.”

Antonio frowned. “He should be here already. And Roderich is rarely late.”

“He’ll be here,” Francis assured him, “Why don’t you go clean your face before you pick up your son, birthday boy? You’re almost old enough to -”

“Shut up Francis.”

~

Every time that tiny car rolled up to the drive, Antonio would always feel like a child on Christmas morning. As much as he was more mature now he was sixteen, he couldn’t stop that feeling. It was the promise of fun.

He swung the door open to greet them but immediately a little boy launched himself into his chest like a bullet.

“Lovi –”

“Big Brother Antonio! Happy birthday!”

“F-Feli! What are you doing here?”

He looked into Feliciano’s dewy eyes which only seemed capable of softening one’s heart. He was just beaming at him. How was he supposed to tell him that he had hit the tender part of his healing wound?

“I made you this! Roderich didn’t tell me it was your birthday until this morning so I rushed it, but I hope you’ll like it…”

He was shyly holding out a sheet of card and Antonio accepted it out of gratitude. It was still soggy from paint but even in this state, he could make out the imitative greenery of the outskirts of town, the vast-grey seaside and a single house, standing on the hill which overlooked the scene.

“Wow! It’s beautiful, Feli. Thank you.”

He took a few more moments to admire the masterpiece of the seven-year old. It felt like an honour to be presented with such a gift from a prodigy. But he had to lay it down on the counter so that the wet paint wouldn’t destroy any of Mrs Bonnefoy’s religiously white furniture, and with his other hand he gently pressed on his stitches. At least everything seemed intact. 

“So where are Lovino and Roderich?” he asked. 

“Roderich wants to stay in the car because we have to rush today, so I ran ahead. Lovi is just coming. You know, Big Brother Antonio, you should just call him Lovi. Only Roderich calls him Lovino, it’s very –”

“Feli, shut up.”

“Lovi!”

Feliciano whirled around to hug him. It felt like Antonio was looking at twins when they were covering one another - where did one start and the other end? But Lovino was quick to pull away with a scowl while Feliciano gave a giant grin. 

“I guess this means I have to go. I’ll see you later. Have a great time! Happy birthday Big Brother Antonio!”

Then he was sprinting back to the car while waving at them. Antonio waved back, a lot less energetically, as the tiny figure headed off. Then the poor thing tripped up on his own legs, falling flat on his face.

“Feli! Are you okay?” Antonio exclaimed, ready to run outside but Roderich had reached him before he could. He gave him a curt nod and carried the sobbing boy back into the car, as if he had seen something he shouldn’t have. But Antonio just waited until they drove away before turning to Lovino.

“So, are you ready to meet my friends?” Antonio grinned, anxious to get started.

But Lovino didn’t look very excited. In fact, he seemed unsettled, the ever-deep frown implanted onto his face and all the excitement drained out of him.

“Lovino?”

Silence.

“Lovi?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He wasn’t even facing him, as if Antonio’s face was too terrible to look at. He tried to move into his line of sight but now Lovino was actively twisting himself around so that he couldn’t see him. Taking a deep breath, Antonio prepared himself to get punched and leaned down and sandwiched Lovino’s head.

“What is it?” he asked sternly, trying to be as sincere as he could.

He was just desperate to get through to Lovino, especially on such a day. And it seemed that the best way to deal with him was just directly. But slowly, Lovino’s face just glowed red and he threw himself in a different direction.

“I-I need the bathroom!” he squealed.

Antonio burst into laughter. “That’s all it was? Well, you know your way around. You don’t need permission to go to the bathroom.”

“I know that,” he scowled and stomped off.

Antonio shook his head in disbelief. Honestly, children. 

~

“Lovi, this is Francis. I don’t know if you remember him from when you were ill.”

“I don’t,” Lovino replied quickly.

“Well… Francis?” Antonio looked over for help but his friend was too busy holding in a laugh.

“I think I would remember a bearded man,” Lovino continued, “Well, half-bearded.”

Then it was Antonio’s turn to hold in his laughter.

“Listen here, brat. If it weren’t for me, you would have died. Show some respect,” Francis snarled, trying to intimidate the younger boy by standing up to him. And of course, he was a lot taller – even taller than Antonio – but Francis just had an aura about him that was too friendly to be scary.

Lovino just shrugged, made a ‘hmph’, and seated himself on the sofa comfortably.

“What a little piece of shit,” Francis scoffed.

“What’d you say?”

“Francis!” Antonio cut in, “I think Gil’s here. Can you get the door?”

Francis threw a dirty look at Lovino before heading out, but Antonio was glad he was letting it go for now. Always count on Francis to hold a grudge.

“I hate him,” Lovino grumbled, sinking into the sofa.

“So did I, at first,” Antonio laughed, “You’ll warm up to him. Do you want a drink?”

“As in alcohol?”

“You’re nine. You’ll drink juice until you’re sixteen.”

“Oh yeah? And I bet today will be your first taste too,” Lovino smirked.

He couldn’t do more than roll his eyes and sit down next to him.

“’Toni! My man! My legal man! I bought booze,” came the yells from the front down. And Lovino just gave him a knowing look that made Antonio feel like the immature one.

“Leave it in the kitchen,” he yelled back furiously, “I told you not to bring any.”

Then a flurry of footsteps before the door swung open again, revealing Gilbert with the most pompous look on his face.

“Where’s the little one? Francis is so pissed off it’s funny. I need to know details. I need to meet him!”

Antonio felt the sofa shift beside him.

“Gil, I thought I told you –”

“Ah! You must be L...L-Leonardo?” Gilbert’s face twisted in confusion, but he leaned in closer as if trying to sniff him out. Lovino was curling like a hedgehog in defence.

“Lovino,” corrected Antonio tiredly, “And Gil, I said –”

“I’m Gilbert!”

“Gil.”

“What? I’m just trying to make friends.”

“You’re scaring him,” Antonio whispered, “Also, I said we’re not going to drink or do anything crazy.”

“Oh my god, and what the fuck are we supposed to do?” Gilbert groaned, finally taking a step back, “And are you wearing a fucking necklace?”

“It’s a rosary,” he corrected, “And it’s my parents.”

“Whoa, nice! Where’d you get it?”

“From the Bonnefoys,” Antonio smiled fondly, “But I appreciate the booze.”

Gilbert gave him a firm pat on the back.

“No problem, pal. I just wish we were hitting it up at a club or something. At least go kick some ass like we always do.”

Antonio was aware that Lovino was gawking at him. But he wondered if he was just curious of Gilbert. After all, who saw an albino most the time with several drastic piercings along his ear? As if that wasn’t enough, Gilbert’s boisterous attitude should frighten most people.

“You can drink if you want,” Lovino grunted out, eyeing Gilbert uncertainly.

“What? Really? ‘Toni, the brat just gave me permission!” Gilbert exclaimed with joy and picked Lovino up in one giant swoop.

“Whoa!”

“Gil, put him –”

“I like you,” Gilbert grinned, “How ‘bout I let you drink as well?”

“Gilbert,” glowered Antonio, “You are not.”

“Jeez, chill out. One year older and you become a killjoy,” he shook his head as he lowered Lovino back onto the ground, “Alright. But I’m going to crack open one. You sure you don’t want one?”

“No.”

“Okay, okay. Stop glaring at me then.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and when he made eye contact with Francis, he heaved a massive sigh. “You were right. He’s gone all Papa Toni on me.”

Francis smirked, “Told you.”

But Antonio couldn’t be bothered fighting those two again. He checked on Lovino instead, whose expression was hidden from him.

“Lovi, you okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“As I thought, it’s a little too overwhelming, huh?” he laughed nervously.

“Your friends… are alright.”

“Huh?”

And now Lovino was looking right at him, eyes bright. But there was a happiness in his face that didn’t need to be conveyed through words, or even a simple smile. And Antonio was glad he caught it.

Now he was reassured everything would be fine. He almost let out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, alcoholic asshole, I want a drink.”

And the reassurance disappeared.

“L-lovi?”

“Seriously?” Gilbert called from the kitchen, “Alright.”

“I want a juice.”

And Antonio burst out into laughter.

~

Once Gilbert was tipsy enough, he challenged Lovino to Mario Kart and lost by a large margin, which of course meant that it was Francis’ turn to try. And when he lost to the child of the group, it meant Lovino’s ego was boosted to the point he declared himself the master of the game. Drunk Gilbert didn’t take that well so he was clinging to the console, training with Francis. And all this time, Antonio just sat back and watched, enjoying the ambiance he had created.

It was almost strange how comfortable he felt. It shouldn’t be this comfortable with a drunken friend, your almost brother and the kid you were babysitting. He couldn't help the smile on his face as he came back from the kitchen, but it slid from his face when he noticed the little person of their group had vanished. He wasn't that small that you couldn't spot him at least.  

“Francis, where did Lovi go?"

The blond didn't bother lifting his eyes from the screen, his fingers dancing across the console.  “I dunno. Maybe the bathroom.”

“Antonio, for fuck’s sake, if you’re not going to help then get lost – Oh my god, you just blue-shelled me. What the fuck? Francis, did you see that shit? It fucking flew…”

Antonio resisted rolling his eyes and left his two best friends to their game. He might as well go find Lovino. It might kill some time; there was only a handful of hours before this day comes to an end and he won't have to be 'special'. 

But it turned out that looking for Lovino wasn't much of a task after all. Right outside the living room, crouched by the stairs was a tiny lump that could only be Lovino. Luckily Antonio was entirely sober otherwise he might mistaken him for one of Mrs Bonnefoy's decorative statues. The only movement that Lovino was doing was mumbling to himself and his face beet red. It made Antonio feel slightly guilty, that his guest was out here and not getting any attention. Quietly, he made his way to sit down next to Lovino, who acknowledged him with a quick side-glance. 

"What's the matter?"

Lovino had stopped mumbling now. 

"Are you... not having a good time? Do you just not like those two?" he suggested, trying to think of the multitude of reasons for him to be upset. 

If Lovino had answered 'yes' though, what was he going to do? Kick his best friends out of his birthday party because Lovino was uncomfortable? That... was actually an option. For some reason, Antonio just wished Lovino would feel better and have fun with the rest of them.

"It's not them."

When Lovino’s voice dropped like that, he was impossible to ignore. Not that he was easy to ignore in the first place, but when he sounded like that Antonio felt it was an obligation to care for him.

“So what’s wrong?” pressed Antonio, even more anxious now. 

He stayed silent.

“…day.”

“Huh?”

“Happy birthday…” he mumbled again.

“Oh, um… Thanks?” Antonio laughed nervously.

Was that it? He was frustrated because he wanted to wish him a 'Happy Birthday'? It made him feel relief first of all, and then a rush of complex feelings. He was sure happiness was one of them but why would it bother Lovino so much? What was it? 

“I got you something.”

“You did? You didn’t have to. Thank you.”

“I haven’t given it to you yet,” he cut in, unamused.

“Right… Sorry.”

Lovino scurried to his jacket and brought back a parcel, the address label ripped off in a hurry.

“I couldn’t wrap it…” he mumbled, "It just got here."

“That's alright. Can I open it?”

He nodded.

He tore it apart fairly easily, but he was more interested in Lovino’s expression. Inside, rolled up like a towel, was a plain white t-shirt and Lovino was looking up at him expectantly. And he wasn't quite sure what he was expecting. Was he supposed to act in a certain way? But he gave a polite smile and said, “Thank you," as he did with everybody else.

Lovino rolled his eyes at him.  “Look at what it says, you tomato bastard.”

He cocked a brow but nonetheless did as he was told. The t-shirt unravelled and the bold lettering on the front read: _I’m special from my head to-ma-toes._

“Oh… Jesus…”

Then he couldn't keep it in anymore. It didn't matter how Lovino reacted. This was too much. He erupted into laughter.

“Oh, this is amazing! I love it, Lovino. Thank you so much.”

“It’s nothing special…” Lovino was still grumbling as Antonio wiped the tears from his eye.

To imagine he was so thoughtful as to get the same shirt he ruined. And to think that Antonio never thought to buy another one of his favourite shirts again. It was so perfect. He couldn’t think of a reason why Lovino would be upset about it not being anything special…

Then he realised what other presents he’d gotten.

He remembered the reaction from Lovino when he mentioned the rosary, when Gilbert barged in with beer, when Feliciano handed him the painting.

Antonio could help but think: cute.

“You know, it’s the thought that counts,” Antonio said slowly as if that would make his point clearer.

But Lovino was still pouting - at least, what Antonio assumed was a pout.

“Alright.”

Antonio sat down on the staircase and leaned into Lovino’s ear. “Don’t tell anybody. But out of all the presents today, I think yours made me smile the most.”

Immediately, Lovino pulled away from him, even his ears were blushing. And just like the many times before, he looked exactly like a ripe tomato.

“W-whatever! That’s so childish.”

Antonio laughed, “But you got it for me. Should I change into it now?”

“D-don’t you dare!”

"Too late."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Please do leave a comment below if you have time to tell me what you think :) It gives me life. And I am currently dying.


	7. Don't Wake Him

After the fiasco that was Antonio’s birthday, it became a regular thing for Gilbert and Francis to spend the weekends with them (but of course, nobody knew and Antonio kept the money). He was grateful that his best friends got along so well with Lovino. He couldn’t remember what it was like before. And the days began to blend together until he thought this was normal.

“I hate to say it, but the brat is pretty cool,” Gilbert conceded, leaning further back on his chair until it was dangling dangerously on the hind legs.

Antonio grinned in victory.

“You don’t have to act so cocky. He’s still an asshole.”

“But you like him. He’s just full of surprises.”

“You know what else is a surprise?" Gilbert suddenly stood up, the chair dropping like a stone. "The fact that you haven’t come out for a month. And Holland is running free as a bird while you’re what? Going to class like some scholarship kids?” 

“Gil, I’m over that,” Antonio exasperated, “I am serious. I’m not going through all this again, and I’m not letting you psych me up. If I get caught again -”

“Listen, Francis is graduating, and I’ll be leaving here the first chance I get. You’ll be stuck with that twat. You really wanna let him think he beat you? You should beat him up harder,” he hissed venomously.

“Gil.”

“Well, do you want him to think he’s hot stuff?”

“Gil.”

“Want him to think he could fuck you in the ass?”

Antonio’s eye twitched.

“Gilbert Beilschmidt!” came the booming voice of the head teacher.

The look of anger dissipated faster than ever and Gilbert was already sprinting out of the cafeteria. 

"Don't think this is over!" he yelled as he disappeared in the distance. 

Antonio let out another sigh.

Life was complicated yet peaceful. He let his hand run down the rosary and let out a relieved sigh. But he was happy.

~

“So I’m not going to hide the fact that it’s my birthday next week like you did to me,” Lovino glared at Antonio, “And I want to have chocolate cake. With ten candles. Because I’m finally getting two-digits.”

Francis choked on his drink.

“That’s great, Lovino,” Antonio smiled and elbowed Francis in the ribs, “But won’t Roderich want you around?”

“There’s this spring festival thing he needs to do. Feli and I will just celebrate our birthday later.”

“Wait. Feli has the same birthday?”

“Yeah.”

“Spooky,” Gilbert laughed, “But makes birthdays easier, I guess. Nobody can forget one and not the other – ow! What the fuck, Antonio? Don’t hit my head.”

“Not like you use it anyway.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lovino was giving a hint of a smile. At least that worked. Their group dynamic seemed much more balanced now – still delicate but improving.

“So what, squirt? Don’t expect anything form me, unless you want to live it up,” Gilbert winked, “Uncle Gil will hook you up.”

Just as Antonio was going to punch him, Lovino spoke up. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Good, ‘cuz Francis and I have a very important party to attend in the next town over, so you two can have your stupid father-son time.”

“Will you stop it?” Antonio exasperated, “It’s creepy. Lovino’s only seven years younger.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just be glad I’m not making Mum jokes. I’m going to find Francis. Apparently there’s going to be a champagne tower at the party. You jealous, ‘Toni? These posh kids are on a whole other level,” Gilbert laughed boisterously as he left the room.

“Is there anything you want?” Antonio asked, once the silence had settled in comfortably around them.

“From life?” Lovino cocked a brow.

He grinned, “Sure, that too. And your birthday.”

“Um… Cooking Mama 2?”

Antonio let out a laugh, “You don’t even have the console. I would be buying it for myself. Alright then, I’ll get it. That’s sorted. So what do you want from life?”

Lovino was biting his lip.

“What is it?”

“I'm not going to be the only one saying it,” he glowered at him.

“Okay, I'll tell you if you tell me,” Antonio exasperated. 

“So.”

Lovino crossed his legs and leaned into the sofa, as if merging with in the cushions. His eyes fluttered closed and for a second Antonio thought he had fallen asleep, but his mouth opened and he spoke with such a clear voice. 

“I’d want to stay in Nonno’s house with Feli – not Roderich though. Only the Vargases should stay in the Vargas house. And Feli can paint and sing all he wants and I can look after him.”

In Antonio’s head, it was a picture-perfect dream. He could see it happening, so clearly depicted by the words of a child. Two similar-looking young boys, polar-opposite personalities living in perfect harmony in their country house, never wanting more. He couldn’t help but ask, “That’s it?”

Brown eyes snapped open into a challenging glare.

“You have something better, tomato bastard?”

“No. I was just surprised yours would be so simple.”

“Simple?”

He could feel his sweat drop. 

“I meant uncomplex. Err, innocent. No… Achievable! It’s achievable. I mean it.”

Finally, it seemed like Lovino accepted his answer and sank back down. His gaze turned away from him, but he was still frowning. “Hmph. As long as I get to be with Feli, I don’t really care what happens. He’s family.”

Family.

It was such a vague concept, as if he used to know the meaning but it had floated away from him in his adolescence. Since then it had only haunted him – this imaginary family he was supposed to have. What did it even mean to be a family? Was this make-shift home he had what you call family? 

“And yours isn’t?”

The voice caught him by surprise. Antonio looked at Lovino to confirm that it was directed at him.

“Achievable,” Lovino continued, still not looking at him.

Antonio fiddled with his rosary, perplexed by his own thoughts. If there was anything he could have in the world, he couldn’t really think of anything better than his situation right now. He was safe and well-fed and had fun. But if had to choose...

“The dead never come back, so why talk about it and get upset?”

He smiled softly and let the heavy cross burden his neck once more.

~

Antonio thought about going to visit Lovino for his birthday but figured that would be extremely disconcerting – for Roderich, that is. Plus, he didn’t have a present prepared for Feliciano yet and that would be rude. They’d think that he favoured Lovino.

He gave a little chuckle even though he was alone in the classroom. What an ironic thought. Lovino would definitely not think that. For such a headstrong brat, he was quite sensitive about these things.

There were a few minutes before his history class started but Gilbert had already jumped ship, so he took out his textbook and skimmed through. It wasn’t that he was overly-interested in civil war or the reliability of sources, only that he had nothing to do. Skipping school seemed futile now and he was actually progressing well.

It brought him back to thinking of the future. The future he never wanted to discuss with anybody, and he ended up bringing it up with a nine-year-old (soon to be ten).

He sighed and dropped the textbook.

“I don’t get it,” he groaned.

What was he supposed to achieve in life anyway? Education was a waste and now debauchery was a thing of the past.

“Do you need some help?” came a soft voice.

Antonio lifted his head and looked around the classroom. He was sure it was empty.

“Um, I’m over here.” He sourced the voice to the back of the room, where a small girl was nervously waving at him. “Sorry I scared you. I was just putting these books back when you came in.”

“Oh, um, sorry I didn’t see you,” Antonio replied, half-embarrassed and half-frustrated. Maybe she was just so small she camouflaged into the background.

Or maybe he was going blind.

“Is there something you didn’t understand about the civil war?” she inquired patiently, still standing where she was. It was kind of intimidating but Antonio could only think of excuses.

How was he supposed to tell her that ‘No, I was just contemplating my life choices and realized I have nothing to live for’? The best course of action was definitely to pretend he was a dumbass who couldn’t read. That would save him the humiliation… kind of.

“Just a little bit. History isn’t exactly my forte,” he chuckled, “Academia in general, actually.”

“I can help, if you like.”

The shadowy figure in the back was now striding forward, revealing herself in the fluorescent light of the classroom. Antonio recognised her the moment he saw her green headband. She never changed her hairstyle even though it mismatched the brown of their uniform and she was always soft-spoken in class. Antonio never paid much attention to her.

“Thanks… Emma, is it?” he hazarded a guess.

“Yeah!” she beamed at him, as if surprised he remembered at all, “And you’re Antonio. I didn’t really know you were in my class until recently.”

Neither did I, he thought, but just smiled politely.

“Well I hardly showed up to class in the beginning of term,” he replied sheepishly.

“Why not?”

His mind drifted to Gilbert and their handsome resume of adventures which he figured would not impress Emma. And it just felt awful to let her down so early.

“I didn’t find it that interesting?”

“Ah, so you prefer this section of history?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It is extraordinarily interesting. You’re from Spain, Antonio?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“No wonder you’re more interested by your own history. I hear it’s a beautiful country.”

Emma was just smiling non-stop at him and while it was somewhat disturbing, it was also contagious. It felt like talking to Mrs Bonnefoy, expect more relaxed.

“So what part is it you don’t understand?” she asked, now turning to the textbook. It had flipped to some random page about the troop mentality.

Antonio felt that if he was honest, he would tell her to start from the beginning. It was like his head was a sieve. Honestly. Nothing stuck. But it would be too cruel to subject her to teaching him from beginning to end – about his own country. So he flipped to a random page.

“This.”

“Franco’s links with Germany and Italy as a reason for his leadership of the Nationalists?”

Antonio blinked.

There was nothing else he could do. None of that made sense. Who was Franco?

He guessed the blank look on his face must have translated to Emma because she started to laugh. She giggled in charming way, and it didn’t help that Antonio immediately thought it was cute. It was

different from when he was drunk and thought a girl was attractive. It was unsettling.

“Sorry, it’s just… Yeah, would you like me to help?”

“I don’t think anything will go in with one minute left of lunch.”

And as if he planned it all, the bell rang obnoxiously loud and he shrugged. Emma gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Well, if you ever need any help, you can find – oh, I’ll give you my number. Here.”

She slipped him a piece of pink paper and Antonio wondered if this girl casually handed out her phone number in this way. And also, was pink paper a thing?

“And I’ll definitely see you next week, right?”

“We have history today,” Antonio frowned, half-doubting himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he forgot what class he was in. “Why don’t you just sit here?”

He pointed to the empty seat next to him. It was such a simple gesture but Emma looked somewhat abashed.

“Oh. Well. Okay. Yes, I’ll just move my stuff…”

Antonio just smiled at her, not knowing quite what to expect.

~

No wonder people always come home exhausted from school. It wasn’t about being active, it was about using up mental energy – like getting up in the morning.

He let out a groan as he flopped onto the sofa and turned on the TV. Maybe he should do something to relieve stress, but neither Gilbert nor Francis would be around this time of day.

He let out another groan.

“Antonio, why are you making that noise?” Mrs Bonnefoy tutted as she came into the living room as graceful as ever. She looked like a prima donna entering the stage, each step carefully calculated and alluring, the helm of her dress never touching the ground.

The air stiffened around Antonio and he immediately sat up to straighten his shirt. No stains: perfect.

“Sorry.”

“Are you going to tell me or do I have to take you to hospital?”

“It’s nothing. I was… just tired.”

Wow, that sounded so pathetic. What was he? A toddler?

“From?”

“School.”

“I… see…” She looked sceptically at him and he self-consciously stared down at himself too. But he looked fine today – not even a speck of dirt on him.

“Why don’t you join a club or something?” she suggested out of the blue, “Like football or tennis or something. Even film club. I know Francis joined some art thing, you might be interested.”

Antonio frowned.

Was this punishment for something? Did she not want him to stick around? Was this a test to see what he would do?

She seemed to know exactly what was running through his head because she came to give him a soft pat on the head.

“I just don’t want you confined to the house all the time.”

“But I’m grounded,” Antonio reiterated, “For life.”

Mrs Bonnefoy laughed, “I think you’ve earned a little freedom. Of course, the rule about Gilbert still applies and you have to stay home during the weekends to babysit, but you can spend your school days however you like.”

“Err, thank you. I really appreciate the thought. But I really don’t have much to do,” Antonio mumbled, thinking about what he could be doing. He was basically a hermit crab now that his only friend was banned form hanging out with him.

“That’s why you should join a club,” she pressed on, “Meet some new people. Or you could learn something new. I took music lessons when I was high school.”

“I already play guitar,” he reasoned.

“It’s just an example, dear. Don’t you like to play football?”

“But I don’t want to be on a team…”

“Oh, Antonio.”

The exhaustion in her voice made Antonio feel even worse than before. He always felt like he owed her something and each time, he would just disappoint her.

In a moment of weakness, he had to agree.

“I’ll think about joining the football club.”

“Really?”

She looked at him with such heartfelt eyes that he was somewhat reminded of Feliciano. Of course, Mrs Bonnefoy was much more mature and didn’t tackle him to the ground in a hug.

“Yeah. I will.”

“Antonio, this will be great! I’m sure you’ll be a regular in no time, then I can come and support you on matches. Oh, this is fantastic! You know, Francis never had a sporty gene in him. But this is a dream come true. Ah, I have to tell my hubby.”

Then she ran off, presumably to speak to her husband. And peace once again descended upon Antonio.

He didn’t really want to interact with more people. He had enough friends – more of them would just drown him.

He fiddled with the rosary again, running his hand down the coolness of the crucifix. It calmed him down a little. Maybe he should try to be more religious – be a priest or something so he would have a better excuse.

He sighed.

What was the point in trying so hard? He was sixteen – a youth. Life was anything he made it, yet all he wanted to do was nothing.

~

It felt oddly quiet without Gilbert and Francis around, even Lovino was a little unsettled by it. He could tell from the way Lovino was constantly scowling.

“Just the two of us again,” Antonio shrugged, “How was your birthday?”

“Crap.”

“Okay.”

He knew better than to pry. Lovino always got defensive, but if he waited long enough then he would tell him naturally.

“I hate the colour blue.”

“Oh.”

“Roderich got Feli this bright blue jacket and it just makes it look more like a girl. I hate it.”

“And what did Roderich get you?”

If it was possible, Lovino frowned even more.

“A stack of revision booklets. Fuck him. He said it was because I was old enough to handle it and Feli should be pampered.”

“Would you like to open my present?” Antonio asked, cheerfully. He had been itching to give it to Lovino since it had come through the mail. Maybe it was a little stupid to buy it using the money he earned from him, but it didn’t really matter.

Lovino just pouted, but his face was reddening. “Did you just wrap up the Cooking Mama game?”

“Actually, I already put it into the console,” Antonio laughed thoughtlessly, “It’s upstairs in my room if you want to play it now.”

“You dumbass.”

“Anyway, open this.”

He drew out the floppy present from behind him, terribly wrapped. Lovino snatched it away from him and was tearing into it before he could apologise for its appearance anyway.

“You got me a shirt?” Lovino stared at him, “Are you serious?”

Now Antonio could feel the grin split across his face.

“You’re looking on the wrong side. Turn it around.”

The words ‘I am special from my head to-ma-toes’ were printed in bold font.

“I had it specially made because the company didn’t do a smaller size. Now we can wear it together and celebrate the deliciousness of tomatoes!” he exclaimed, perhaps too happily.

“This is…”

“A matching shirt,” he grinned, much too proud of his idea.

He didn’t really know what got him to take this route but he figured Lovino would appreciate it, for some odd reason. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might be wrong.

“What… a stupid idea.”

His grin dropped.

“You don’t like it?”

“Hmph. Well it’s a present so I have to take it.”

Antonio gave himself a mental pat on the back when he saw that Lovino’s face blossomed red.

~

Lovino had conked out on the sofa, gentle snores filling the room. It was therapeutic, lulling Antonio into a hazy state, but he fought against the drowsiness. He needed to take Lovino to his room. (Well, the guest room, but it may as well be Lovino’s.)

“Lovi, you can’t sleep here,” Antonio mumbled, gently shaking his tiny shoulder.

All he got was a slurred ‘fuck off’ in response, then Lovino was like a puppet. Antonio sighed.

“Suit yourself. You’ll just catch a cold again if you don’t get up.”

Still no movement.

And like a responsible babysitter, Antonio grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around the snoring piglet. Lovino wasn’t exactly small but when Antonio was told he was going to be babysit, he had imagined a toddler, only up to his knees. Lovino exceeded his expectations. He wasn’t quite up to his shoulders but if he gave him a few more years, he might even be taller than Antonio.

He chuckled to himself.

To imagine Lovino as taller was surprisingly funny. At least while Lovino had those puffy cheeks and ability to transform into a tomato every time he got frustrated it wasn’t possible to picture him as mature. He was the picture of innocence as he lay there, murmuring in his sleep.

Antonio leaned in to listen.

“Nonno…”

Then he moved away silently.

He shouldn’t disturb the precious time he had. It would be too selfish of him. He had almost forgotten that meeting Lovino was the result of a tragedy. If Lovino had a choice, he wouldn’t be here.

It hurt.

And just like every other time something hurt, Antonio walked away and shut the door behind him, praying it would never come back to haunt him.

~

“What do you do for fun?” Emma asked, her legs swinging like a pendulum. It dangerously hitched up her skirt, so Antonio averted his eyes to the history textbook they had said they would go over.

“Nothing much. I guess I just hang out with my friends.”

“That’s nice,” she smiled, almost jealously.

It didn’t suit her expression, Antonio noted. Emma had a soft face, kind of like Lovino, but she was always smiling. It seemed natural to her. He wondered when the last time Lovino smiled like that would be.

Had he even smiled since he met Antonio?

“Antonio?”

“Yes?”

“You zoned out,” Emma frowned, “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine. Sorry. Just… thinking,” he shook off the haze, “What about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Oh, I bake a lot,” she replied with a grin on her face. It made Antonio think: thank god. She did look so much prettier with a smile. “I could let you try some. Next time I bake, that is.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“You wouldn’t. I make extra all the time and there’s not many people I could give it to,” she urged, “It would be a waste otherwise.”

“Then I’d love to.”

The bell rang just as Antonio caught a glimpse of rosy cheeks, breaking the ambiance that they had built during their lunch.

“Time sure does fly,” he remarked. He had planned on meeting up with Gilbert after this.

“Um, Antonio? Would you mind… if I made you something for you?”

“Huh?”

“It’s just… I thought it would be a good idea. We never really get any studying done and I feel like I’m just keeping you in the classroom for nothing. It would be a good chance for me to practice as well. Unless there’s something you might want. My baking skills aren’t that great but I could make something similar…”

The bombardment of words had thrown Antonio off completely. He was sure this was what they called a rant, or at least blubbering. It seemed like it would never end and it was giving him a headache.

So he responded with a confused “yeah sure”.

The students were beginning to swarm into the classroom and buzzing with excitement from lunch. They didn't even bother looking at the two of them. 

“Thanks,” she replied quietly, and turned to stare at her desk.

Antonio did the same, keeping to himself. They had somehow isolated themselves from the rest of them but sitting together give him a sense of friendship. Emma was a nice girl, and he hoped it would last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and the amazing people who commented, making my days worthwhile! It's such a joy to be able to share what I write. I've finished all my exams and dealt with a failed relationship so I am ready to get back to it. Getting attached to fictional characters may be my way of coping though. Who knows? But thank you guys for getting this far. I can't believe we're more than half way through. I'm going to pick up the pace a little now. Will Emma and Antonio be a thing? Will Gilbert ruin everything? Will Lovino get sick of being babysat? Will Feliciano get in the way? I don't even know if I know that, so we will find out together!


	8. Don't Disappoint Him

The sky was so grey that it was even dampening Antonio’s mood. He didn’t even want to keep walking towards the school gate even though it was within view. Everything just looked so monochromatic that Antonio was waiting for it to split up into colours. Maybe there would finally be a thunderstorm.

Suddenly, a burly arm stretched out in front of him, obstructing his keen observation of colours.

“Hey, adopted kid.”

He paused for a second.

Who else could it be but the persistently annoying exchange student Holland? Sure, Antonio had a list of people he wasn’t on good terms with, but this guy was on another level.

“Hey asshole.”

Holland was a tall guy with spikey blond hair gelled up to the ceiling, but his face was what really annoyed Antonio most. He had the most passive face in the world – as if he didn’t care for anything.

Even when Antonio was punching that face in, it still held that expression.

“I need to talk to you.”

“We’re talking now,” Antonio narrowed his eyes at him.

After all this time, now he wants to talk. It didn’t make any sense. But it didn’t seem to bother Holland at all. He nudged his head in the direction of the back of school.

“I’m going to class,” Antonio said, “If you need to talk, make an appointment with my secretary. I’m a busy guy.”

“You’re going to talk whether you like it or not.”

“That’s convincing.”

And although Antonio felt the premonitions sinking in already, he couldn’t help but be curious as to why Holland was so worked up. He was never this bothered by… anything.

“I thought we were done talking.”

“So did I,” he replied coldly.

“If this is about what happened before –”

“We both know it’s not.”

Antonio tried to suppress the frown from making its way to his face.

He had been in dangerous situations before – knives were nothing new to him. But it should warrant being a topic of conversation with the guy you were arch-enemies with. He could not figure out what else Holland could possibly want to talk about. Revenge? Rematch?

“Come with me.”

And this time, despite his gut churning inside, he followed him to the back of the school grounds.

~

“You’ve been talking to my sister.”

Antonio groaned.

At least this wasn’t going to be a mystery to find out. It had to be Emma. That’s just how cruel irony works out: the sweetest girl in the world would be related to the worst guy in the world.

“And?”

“Some kind of sick joke, Carriedo?”

“Listen, Holland, I don’t care.”

“You don’t care but you’re spending every lunchtime with my sister in an empty classroom.”

“What the fuck? Have you been watching us?”

“You’re not hard to miss.”

As creeped out as he was, he couldn’t help but think of how obvious it was. And while he appreciated Emma as a friend, he couldn’t let Holland walk over him.

“So what?”

“Leave my sister alone,” Holland warned him with a low voice.

Antonio rolled his eyes.

An overprotective brother was an overly annoying person to deal with. And he couldn’t really be bothered with it today. Not when it was right before the weekend.

“It’s none of your business what I do. And it’s not really your business who Emma talks to.”

He whirled around quickly to get to class on time, ignoring Holland completely. Pride swelled up within him, knowing his maturity had reached its peak. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell everybody, mainly Lovino, about how he had side-stepped a potential fight.

Suddenly everything deflated. A punch went straight through to his stomach. It was so reminiscent of when he was stabbed that Antonio flinched all the way back and hunched down. He was hacking his breaths and he couldn’t help but feel like he might throw up.

“I did it once, I can do it again.”

This time it was a hit to the head, until Antonio was on his knees.

“Stay the fuck away from her.”

But the phrase was ringing in his ears, along with everything else. Everything seemed so distorted now, as if his vision had been tossed into a blender.

“You fucking son of a bitch,” he rasped out as he got to his feet.

Then it was all instinct; animals clawing at one another, roaring into their faces, sticky blood decorating their bodies.  
Antonio could feel nothing but the skin on his fists peeling away. The cacophony of shouting, grunting and faint cheering filled the air around him yet muted in some strange way. All he wanted to do was beat Holland. He wanted to destroy him. It didn’t matter what happened anymore. They could drag him away, kick him down, suspend him forever but it wouldn’t matter. He just needed to hurt someone. That was when he could feel alive.

“Antonio!”

Finally, his fists weren’t hitting anything and the vague figure of Holland was fading into the distance.

~

Antonio wasn’t sure who had saved him – he looked a lot like Gilbert but sounded too much like Mrs Bonnefoy.

“Seriously, what the fucking is going through that dumbass head of yours?”

Nope. Definitely Gilbert.

“Antonio, are you fucking listening to me? Do you have a death wish? At the back of the school no less. It’s been so long since you’ve lost your shit like that.”

He tried to give a laugh but it sounded like a choking noise instead, so he gave up on that and concentrated on managing the pain.

“What the hell are you laughing about?” Gilbert snarled, “Is this some sick joke of yours?”

“It’s just…” Antonio felt like someone had stuffed wool down his throat. “You sound like Lovi.”

Lovino. He was supposed to see him tomorrow. This could be bad.

“Oh Jesus. Now is not the fucking time to be worrying about that ‘Toni!”

He hadn’t even realised he was mumbling to himself. Maybe the damage was worse than he suspected. After that, Gilbert silently dragged Antonio to the nurse’s office, hauling him onto the bed as the nurse looked up from her desk.

“What do we have here?” she grimaced at the tow of them, “I suppose you weren’t the culprit this time, Gilbert.”

“It wasn’t me; it was –”

“An accident,” Antonio cut in, surprisingly smoothly, “And it’s not that bad.”

“Well, this black eye looks bad – definitely not by accident,” she sighed as she inspected his face, gently prodding the swollen area. Antonio flinched as little as possible but once he had sat down, his body seemed to refuse to listen.

“I’ll get you some ice. Nothing’s broken but you are pretty beaten up. You can stay here until school ends. A family member will have to pick you up.”

“What?”

Antonio couldn’t imagine what kind of face Mrs Bonnefoy would make if she saw him.

“You bumped your head. Health and safety regulation.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘bumped’,” Gilbert smirked and if Antonio’s eye hadn’t swollen up, he would have glared back. “But Miss, can’t Francis come pick him up?”

“I suppose… He is an adult.”

“Great, I’ll go find him!” he declared and dashed off again.

“He’s always full of energy,” the nurse chuckled to herself. Then she turned to Antonio, her face solemn and silent.

Antonio felt like he was being called to break the silence. No way in hell was he going to spill that he got beat up by the guy he beat up a few months ago. No way. He was going to keep his mouth shut.

“I see you more in school,” she remarked, finally moving away to get an ice packet.

“Um, yeah.”

“Not letting Gilbert egg you on? I think he gets a little lonely. He barely fights anymore.”

Antonio smiled.

Of course Gilbert somehow swarmed his way into the nurse’s heart. He did that to almost anybody he met, even though he was an obnoxious bastard. Plus, he had no boundaries. If he felt like something needed to be said, he would say it, regardless of who you were, where you were and what it was. That’s why you should never tell secrets to him.

“It’s good to see you two together. I thought you might have fought.”

“No…”  
“Huh. So is the other guy even worse?”

“He’s fine.”

“That’s a surprise.”

She looked as though she might inquire further but thankfully, Gilbert stormed into the office with Francis in toll. He didn’t look very happy.

“Gilbert, I said the end of school,” the nurse exasperated, “You know what? Just take him. You can go after I’ve given you all these documents – not that I expect you to give them to your parents.”

“Aw, Miss. You’re the best. And you wouldn’t report us either, will you?” Gilbert grinned and proceeded to chat amiably to her.

Antonio took his eyes away from the odd couple and found himself in a death glare. Francis looked livid – the very image of Mrs Bonnefoy, except with more stubble.

“You stupid boy.”

“Hey, I just turned sixteen,” Antonio mumbled, trying not to move his lips. He was sure it was busted but he was hesitant to look in a mirror.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I thought I was going to class,” he answered honestly, “And then Holland attacked me.”

“He jumped you?”

“He threatened me first.”

“About?”

“Emma.”

“Who the hell is Emma?” Francis narrowed his eyes, “And what does that have to do with you?”

“She’s a friend who turns out to be Holland’s sister.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“Tell me about it.”

Francis seemed struck by the idea more than Antonio thought he would. He had to sit down next to Antonio.

“I have to say, I didn’t think you would be the type to use that kind of tactic.”

Antonio scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion only to recoil from pain. His face was a complete mess right now and his brain couldn’t quite keep up with Francis’ insinuation.

“What are you talking about? She’s a friend.”

He scoffed, “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious.”

Francis stared at him for the longest time as if trying to decipher a puzzle that had etched itself on his face. Then he sighed in defeat and shook his head. “So what are we going to do? You’re screwed

in so many ways.”

“I’m more worried about your mum,” Antonio answered honestly, thinking back to the awkward conversation he had had. She was not going to be happy that he spent his time in another fight.

“You’re right. She’ll probably cage you after this.”

“Not what I wanted to hear.”

“Nobody ever wants the truth.”

Antonio half-wished he was unconscious. Then he wouldn’t have to think, wouldn’t have to fight back the rising regret in his chest. He couldn’t help but think about later, when Lovino would show up and see him in his sorry state.

“Let’s just get you home first,” Francis concluded, “We’ll take it from there.”

~

By some miracle, the fight was not reported around school – perhaps it was a much too regular occurrence with those familiar names – and Antonio ended up having to walk home with Francis with his beaten body. He staggered more than a newborn deer would and he could feel the adrenaline leaving his body as if evaporating into the air, along with his ability to endure pain.

But of course, reality had to kick in at some point. When Francis and Antonio got to the door, Mrs Bonnefoy was standing with her arms crossed in such a disappointed stance.

“Antonio.”

That tone was more than enough for Antonio to feel guilty.

“I… don’t even know what to say.”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled.

“It really isn’t ‘Toni’s fault this time,” Francis cut in, “He was attacked by this other bigger guy.”

Mrs Bonnefoy threw him a look and Antonio knew he had lost an ally.

“Let’s go inside. Francis, go back to school.”

“… Okay. I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah.”

So Francis trailed on back, leaving Antonio to fend for himself. Mrs Bonnefoy didn’t even need to say anything for Antonio to sit himself down in the living room, head bowed from shame but pain too.

“Was it Gilbert? Actually, I don’t want to know.”

“It wasn’t,” Antonio retorted quietly, “Gil actually stepped in to save me. I was attacked.”

“Antonio,” she said sadly, “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

But it seemed to only make her more disappointed and downhearted. Her eyes were growing misty like the dawn, only Antonio was sure there was no sun coming.

“You keep acting out and it’s hard – for you and for me.”

“I’m not acting out,” Antonio snapped back, only realising his mistake.

“I thought maybe I could help.”

“You are.”

“Maybe I’ve been doing this all wrong,” Mrs Bonnefoy shook her head.

Although Antonio knew he was in the wrong – somewhat – he couldn’t help but be annoyed. He couldn’t help but mock Mrs Bonnefoy for her continuous rant about right and wrong. It didn’t matter. It never mattered. No matter what anyone did, Antonio would never change. He was who he was.

“I’ve given you freedom and you abused it. I tried to build boundaries but you overstep them. What do I do, Antonio?”

He remained silent. Mainly because he was sure that if he opened his mouth then fire would breathe out. And his head was thumping.

“I thought you were becoming more responsible. You go to school and stay there; you don’t go out anymore; you babysit and earn money. It’s like nobody can influence you.”

“I don’t need to be influenced,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“I said I don’t need to be influenced.”

There was silence in the room again.

“Okay. Alright. Do whatever you want then, Antonio. I’ll call Roderich and tell him not to come.”

Antonio wanted to scream. He really did. He wanted to rip the phone from Mrs Bonnefoy’s hand and shatter it into tiny pieces and then throw himself onto the shards.

But instead he sat there.

~

The pain from being beat up was on a separate spectrum from that of being stabbed; neither of which ought to be familiar to any sixteen-year-old boy, yet it was close to being comforting to Antonio. Pain never changed. Each time he rolled to his side, the same stinging sensation would remind him that all this was real – so real that he couldn’t forget how he acquired these spectacular bruises wrapped around him like poison ivy.

He wondered if this was how prodigies feel, when they had this much beauty on them which went completely under-appreciated by the people around them. He supposed he didn’t have much of an audience anyway. Gilbert wouldn’t care; Francis hated anything brutish; Mrs Bonnefoy would be upset and Lovino…

God, what would Lovino think?

He groaned thinking about it. Roderich would probably sugar-coat the story, or maybe Mrs Bonnefoy wouldn’t even tell him.

Oh god, he was going to lose his job.

This was the absolute worst. And it wasn’t even (really) his fault.

He had been caught in an unfavourable situation and now he was going to lose his job. He probably wouldn’t see Lovino ever again.

That thought left a stone in the pit of his stomach.

He didn’t want that. He really needed to see Lovino again. This couldn’t be how it ended – as cliché as it sounded. But how could everything end so abruptly? He had only recently gotten Lovino to open up. It felt like betrayal.

He gulped, feeling the stinging pain again.

He would grovel at Mrs Bonnefoy’s feet if he had to. He couldn’t let this happen. Antonio was mentally preparing himself for the agony of standing up and walking all the way downstairs when there was a gentle knock on the other side of the door.

“Antonio?”

Mrs Bonnefoy slowly opened the door, with the most sympathetic look on her face.

“How are you feeling? Do you want anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine,” he squeezed out quickly, “But I want to apologise. I want to explain myself –”

“Now, Antonio,” she said with a ferocity that shocked him. It was the voice that demanded to be listened to, and if there was any time that Antonio needed to do exactly as told, it was now. “I just had a guest come in.”

“Huh?”

How had he not heard that? Was he just in too much pain to notice?

“It was a wonderful girl, named Emma.”

“Oh.”

Mrs Bonnefoy sat herself down at the edge of the bed, giving a soft smile.

“She was telling me how you were studying together, and her brother misunderstood your intentions and well…” she gave a heavy sigh, “I guess I misunderstood as well. I have to apologise, Antonio. I didn’t know you were helping somebody out and it ended up this way.”

“It’s alright, Mrs Bonnefoy,” he countered quickly, “Really.”

Antonio’s brain was whirling. Emma had come all the way to his house? How did she even find the address? And what did she say? Did she mention Holland and did Mrs Bonnefoy recognise the name?

And now he was made out to be the victim of the entire thing. Maybe he could use that to negotiate about babysitting.

“You’re a good kid, Antonio,” she continued with that motherly smile that made him sick with a different kind of pain, “I’m sorry I doubted you. I should have known…”

“It’s okay, really…”

She shook her head, “Of course you’re not grounded, and like I said before you can join clubs or anything you like. Emma mentioned she was in the baking club – that sounds like fun! She wanted to apologise and check on you but I figured that would be a little... But she was very enthusiastic about seeing you at baking club!”

“I, um, would rather just keep doing the babysitting,” he quickly intervened before he would be dragged into a baking club of all things, “It’s a part-time job and I’m earning. It’d look really good for applications.”

Mrs Bonnefoy’s eyes sparkled when she heard that.

It was taboo to mention words like that in the household. Francis avoided it like the plague. He was always afraid that he’d be pressured into a career path, although he always planned on moving as far away as possible using the excuse of education.

“You’re so sensible, Antonio. You have no idea how happy this makes me,” she beamed at him, “You know, I think we should have a celebratory dinner. I’ll make anything you want.”

“You don’t have to.”

Since there wasn’t much to celebrate.

“No, no. You’ll need to stay in bed anyway for the weekend. Anything you want.”

Antonio blinked.

Bed rest for the entire weekend? That sounded like a nightmare.

“I still can’t babysit tomorrow?”

She tutted, “You’re injured. Plus, I already phoned Roderich and he’s arranged for them all to go on a trip somewhere this weekend. It’ll be good for little… Lorde?”

“Lovino,” he sighed. Why was it so hard to remember one name?

“Ah, well, he’ll certainly enjoy it. And you can see him next week. Until then, you stay here. Now, tell me what you want to eat.”

Antonio thought about it for a while. He could choose anything, really, now that Mrs Bonnefoy was in such a great mood. He could order a takeaway, but Francis would probably be annoyed. He could ask for steak.

“Tomato pasta would be nice.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” Mrs Bonnefoy clapped her hands together, “We haven’t had Italian for a while. I can make Tiramisu to go with it. Just you wait, it’ll be a feast.”

Antonio smiled, glad that he had somewhat satisfied Mrs Bonnefoy’s desire to baby him. She continued to pester him for a while, examining the bruises and the black eye with tender care, before kissing him lightly on his forehead and letting him rest. And Antonio was much too exhausted to rub it away.


	9. Don't Lecture Him

The weekend was one of endurance - mainly from Mrs Bonnefoy’s kind administrations than any of the intense pain he was feeling. Even though he was in a fit enough shape to run around the next day Mrs Bonnefoy had ultimately decided that he was to be confined to the square of his bed. He never thought he would come to a point where he hated his own room and being told to play video games. (He even started that stupid new cooking game and cleared a hefty amount of new recipes ‘even better than Mama’.)

When Monday came, it truly was a celebration of freedom even though he was heading straight to school. It was like the air was fresher than ever and the world seemed brighter. He was so blinded by his renewed view of the world that he completely forgot about the reason for his confinement. Thankfully, Francis’ head was still in the right place and grabbed his by the collar of his shirt before he dashed into the building.

“It’s Holland.”

Antonio was a bit more occupied by the choking of his neck but paused nonetheless. The bulky figure of Holland - not so scraped up as he was - was leaning against the gates with his usual band of boys. He was still the tallest, lumbering over them like a tree.

“What’d you wanna do?” Francis asked, genuinely curious than he was concerned.

Antonio shrugged.

It wasn’t like there was anything to do. Pick another fight in broad daylight? Disappear into thin air?

“Walk in?”

Francis stared at him for a while, as if saying: seriously? But he continued on.

As they approached, Antonio could see out of the corner of his black eye that Holland had been alerted of his appearance. Then, by some miracle, the group of them disappeared like a swarm of bees lured away by their queen.

He looked over quite obviously just to check if he wasn’t hallucinating. He wasn’t. They had actually moved. The whole blond bunch of them.

What happened?

“Hey Francis. Did I - ?”

“Antonio!”

It was a pitchy scream, but Antonio could pinpoint exactly who it was through the mere enthusiasm of her voice. Who else would be excited to see him after all?

Emma was dashing her way towards them, her brunette hair flying behind her like a horse’s mane. Once she reached Antonio, she held both his hand in hers. He noted how dainty they were.

“Antonio! I’m so glad you’re okay,” Emma exclaimed, eyes glossy with emotion, “I came over to visit but you were so unwell, I...”

“Thank you,” he said quite robotically. He wasn’t quite expecting any of this at all. Plus, the physical contact had him feeling awkward. “You really helped me out.”

She flushed and Francis prodded him in the ribs. At that, he promptly removed both his hands from Emma’s hold so he could shove Francis aside.

“It’s nothing. This was all my fault. I didn’t know my brother could be so intolerable, and about my personal life too. I’ve given him an earful. He’s sorry about what happened.”

“Is he now?” Francis muttered mockingly.

Antonio cut in quickly, even though it was obvious he had been heard. “You should come over some time. Mrs Bonnefoy would be glad to have you - she was very interested by your baking club.”

“I would love to - if it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Beautiful ladies are always welcome in the Bonnefoy household,” Francis grinned, “How does this weekend suit you? You could come over and bake.”

“Sure! That sounds great,” Emma smiled back kindly and Antonio began to wonder if she was just really really gullible.

“But I have to babysit,” he cut in quickly, “I don’t think this weekend would be a good idea.”

Emma looked like a deflated balloon, the tuff of her brown hair framing around her face. It made Antonio feel even worse, but when he thought about Lovino’s disappointed face, it let him side-step the guilt. After all, he couldn’t imagine Lovino being happy with a random stranger this week.

Francis elbowed him directly where he had been punched. He almost hunched over, trying to protect as much of his tender skin as possible.

“Oh, but the kid would be glad to have you over too. Those two just sit there all day playing video games. Baking would be a breath of fresh air,” Francis beamed at her.

“Really?”

Emma glanced over at Antonio, who was much too busy being in pain.

“Please. It’s an invite from yours truly. I would love to try your baking,” he persisted, trying to move Emma’s gaze away.

“Well… It sounds great. I better get to class now though. We can talk later?”

“Of course, mademoiselle.”

Emma smiled politely at Francis and then turned to Antonio. “I’ll see you in History?”

He nodded erratically, wanting her to be gone so he could hit Francis twice as hard on the head.

“Okay, bye!”

“Au revoir!”

And once Emma had skipped her way into the building, Antonio threw his entire weight into a punch – which of course was anticipated by Francis and avoided by the tilt of a head.

“What the fuck Francis?”

“Hey, she’s clearly into you,” Francis scoffed, “Shouldn’t you be thanking me? I just got you a date.”

“When I’m supposed to be looking after Lovi!”

Francis cocked a brow at him. “Papa Toni can’t handle a date? There’s a thing called multitasking.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s only baking. It won’t destroy your weekend. Unless you were planning something...”

“I’m not fucking planning anything. She is a friend.”

Francis gave him that knowing look and headed off. But Antonio stood there in the middle of the yard thinking. He supposed Francis was right. Baking and babysitting wouldn’t be the worst combination in the world.

~

Antonio had no way of warning Lovino of Emma or about the fight. He couldn’t exactly call Roderich, their sole contact, and explain himself there. In fact, he wasn’t sure what Roderich knew.

Plus, the entire week was hectic enough with spending time with Emma. It wasn’t out of spite or anything. Emma just seemed to appear everywhere. She even sat with him during lunch - even Gilbert commented on how weird that was.

“She’s his sister, right?” he had whispered, rather loudly, “But they’re so... different.”

To which Francis had sighed and Emma had blushed in embarrassment.

Holland stayed out of the way no matter where he was now. It felt like he was using Emma as a ward against him, but at least it let him rest peacefully. At least now Emma was acquainted well enough with them that the weekend wouldn’t be weird. Imagine, Antonio, Lovino and Emma. Now that would be a bad combination.

Antonio just wanted to tell Lovino everything. He felt guilty. He felt like he had let him down last week, even though he couldn’t help being beat up. (God, was this was it was like to be responsible?)

As he sat by the staircase himself, he couldn’t help but cringe. This all looked so bad. How was he going to explain himself?

But before he could piece together some form of speech, the doorbell was ringing. Through the colourful opaque glass, he could see the tall slim figure of Roderich. Out of fear of embarrassing himself any further by being tardy, he threw open the door to greet his employer.

“Hello.”

Roderich’s eyes widened even larger than his spectacles, and Antonio could only imagine how stupid he looked with his body half-bandaged.

“It’s good to see you are… well,” he managed to say, “Madame Bonnefoy informed me you were gravely ill.”

At this, he eyed his sceptically and Antonio knew he looked a lot worse than he suspected. Ill didn’t exactly translate into getting beat up, did it?

“I’m sorry about last week. I hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle.”

Roderich continued to stare but pulled his lips taut as he said, “I suppose you cannot control such circumstances. Lovino ended up performing at the showcase last week alongside Feliciano.”

“Oh. Did it… go well?”

Antonio couldn’t really picture that in his head. He expected Feliciano and Roderich to be singing chapel music, but Lovino? He never showed much interest in music, much less in performing.

“It did. Families tend to harmonize well with one another.”

“I see. That’s good to hear.”

“Indeed. Many people enjoyed it. I may be tempted to arrange for Lovino to participate in more shows.”

“That’s…” Antonio couldn’t fill out the rest of the sentence. He didn’t really know how to feel about that. He supposed it was a good thing. Family time was always a positive thing, wasn’t it?

“I’ll pick him up the same time. I’ll go get him from the car.”

And with that, Roderich whirled around, not even saying goodbye. Antonio just didn’t like that man, no matter how many times they interacted or how civil he attempted to act. He was a snob and that was all. Plus, he knew he hadn’t been treating Lovino right. The tiny hatchback car was already driving off before Lovino made it to the doorstep.

“How’re you doing?” Antonio smiled at him brightly, half-praying he wasn’t livid. (He tended to be, regardless of the circumstances.)

Lovino was glaring at him – no, narrowing his eyes intensely. Then he said, “What the fuck happened to your face?”

“Oh, uh… Long story.”

“Hmph.”

He stormed his way into the Bonnefoy house like he owned the place, throwing himself onto the sofa and crossing his arms in seething rage. It actually freaked Antonio out a little and he approached him cautiously.

“How was your trip with Roderich last week? He said you performed,” Antonio said, trying his best to subdue him.

“If you know already then why the hell are you asking again?”

He frowned, “Because it’s your opinion that matters. Plus, Roderich isn’t the type to be considerate of feelings. For all I know, he just shoved you on stage with your brother.”

“Damn right.”

“So… you didn’t have fun?”

He shrugged.

“You enjoyed singing?”

“Feli did the singing; I did harmonies.”

Antonio pretended to understand what that entailed and nodded. “Must be nice to sing with your brother though. You haven’t spent the weekends with him for so long.”

Lovino let out the tiniest smile, but one of the fondest that Antonio had ever witnessed. It was enough to confirm that his weekend had not been spent in vain, that Lovino made the most of his time. Unlike him.

Then the tiny face contorted into one of frustration again.

“So are you going to tell me about why you fucked up last week or would you prefer passive-aggression?”

Antonio laughed nervously.

Of course Lovino would face delicate issues head-on. That was in his character, but not in his gentle nature.

“Just, um, trouble at school.”

Lovino scoffed, “You mean you’re the trouble.”

“Well… Not exactly. This time.”

Lovino rolled his eyes at him. But it wasn’t in that usual sarcastic way, as Antonio was so accustomed to. It was of disappointment.

“That means you’ve done that before.”

“I’ve, uh, never been much of a school kid to begin with, so I didn’t make going to classes a priority. I hung out with Gil a lot and made… acquaintances with other people.”

Lovino now stared at him as if he were an idiot. “You know, you can just tell me that you skive and act like a delinquent. I’ve seen Gilbert.”

He blinked.

Now he didn’t really know what to say.

“I don’t – I mean, I’m not a delinquent.”

“Uh huh. That’s why you’re beat up.”

“I didn’t get beat up,” Antonio scowled, hating how people assumed that. Did he lose a lot of muscle or something? “I didn’t fight at all. Gil’s the one that does that shit.”

He scoffed, “He won’t be going anywhere soon, huh?”

Antonio tapped his chin for a second. “Well, he is. He’s dropping out as soon as he can.”

“And you won’t? Drop out.”

God, Lovino liked to ask difficult questions. Antonio wondered if this was what it was like being a parent. People expected you to have answers to everything.

“I haven’t decided. Although I don’t enjoy school that much. And public exams are stressful. Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t talk education seriously. Do you like school?”

“I hate it.”

“Oh.”

“Everybody there treats me like an idiot. It’s boring to be surrounded by morons.”

“So it’s the people you dislike.”

“Hmph.”

“Well I can certainly relate to that,” he laughed nervously and pointed to his eye, “This guy doesn’t like me much.”

“You get bullied?”

Antonio let out another awkward laugh and cringed at himself. He was pretty sure what he was dealing with could be classified as ‘bullying’ but there were a lot of other factors at play. It seemed insensitive to bring it up at this point though.

“Not exactly. We just don’t… get along. I don’t have many friends.”

“Same.”

Antonio looked at Lovino, trying to gain eye contact. But he had turned away, as if avoiding the issue he had brought up himself. Sure, Antonio wasn’t the ideal role model to be helping him out but he wanted to. At least he wanted Lovino to know he cared.

“You –”

A huge exasperated sigh cut him off.

“Don’t give me that ‘you can make friends if you try’ shit. I get enough of that.”

“Oh.”

Except that was exactly what he was going to say. He suddenly felt guilty, wanting to treat Lovino like a problem child. He knew exactly what that was like after all.

“What’s the point in being friends with someone you act fake with? Bimbos.”

“Yeah…”

He smiled. Lovino was more mature that he was given credit for. Sometimes they just got so carried away that Antonio forgot he was only ten, with a troubled childhood.

“I’m not telling you to make new friends though.”

“You’re not?”

He grinned, “If you come to Hetalia High, you can be with me. You’re my henchman so you’ll have to stick with Boss.”

As expected, Lovino’s cherub face blossomed into a bouquet of red and he whirled himself away.

“D-don’t say things you don’t mean, bastard!”

“Of course I do. It’ll be fun. You’d have to study hard for it though. It’s an international school, and you never know if Roderich would agree to it.”

“He has no plans for me.”

And just like that, the mood soured again.

“Well… good. Because I have plans for you. In fact, we’re going to study right now. If you think kids in your class are stupid then you can do my work.”

“I don’t have homework.”

“Oh, then,” Antonio glanced around, scavenging for anything vaguely educational. But Mrs Bonnefoy had stuck to the minimalist approach to her interior design recently. The most challenging thing in the living room was the marble centrepiece sitting on the glass coffee table that looked more like a crystal maze.

“We can practice languages. That’s difficult.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Hey! You don’t speak Spanish. We can start there.”

“I won’t need it,” Lovino pouted now, crossing his arms, “It’s not like I’ll be moving to Spain anytime soon. And I don’t even…”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Antonio frowned, not enjoying the suspense of it all. He respected the privacy of course, but with Lovino he wanted to know or the sake of knowing. He wanted Lovino to feel that he didn’t need to hide  
anything from him. But he shoved that pride aside and perked up.

“You’ll need Spanish when you speak to me. It’ll be like our own secret language. Barely anybody speaks it in this area of Italy. It’ll make you more employable too – multilingual.”

“Whatever. You won’t be able to teach me. I don’t things up as quickly as Feli does.”

“I’m not teaching Feli though.”

Lovino went so silent that Antonio wanted to make sure he was still breathing. He tried to lean over to look properly at his face, but in the same instance, he whirled himself around, revealing his crimson cheeks.

“If I’m learning Spanish then I should teach you Italian!”

Antonio couldn’t help but find the situation humorous. Where did that logic even come from?

“I speak Italian fine,” he countered.

“You have an accent, you foreign bastard. You’re destroying my heritage.”

Antonio felt undermined, if not entirely offended. He thought he had picked up the new language quickly.

“What? Then we should study English – everyone speaks it at Hetalia High.”

“My English probably better than yours,” he taunted, “Now get started on your stupid language before I get bored.”

“Ah, _dios_.”

~

Lovino, to put bluntly, was stubborn to a fault. Luckily it worked in his favour regarding studying. The added fuel of trying to one-up Antonio meant he stayed up way past when he should have conked out on the sofa with notes scattered around him.

Had it not been for Francis shaking him awake, Antonio would have stayed asleep on the floor. What a Friday night, staying up to study.

“What are you two doing? There are literally five beds in the house, not slept in,” Francis frowned disapprovingly.

“What time is it?” he mumbled back in response, unable to keep his eyes fluttering shut.

“Almost noon. The others are coming soon.”

“Oh shit.”

He knew there was something he needed to tell Lovino. But the conversation had drifted all over and then the language lessons after required so much attention that the thought didn’t even occur to him.

He looked over to where Lovino was still sleeping peacefully, drool dripping from his mouth and onto the notes they had so carefully handwritten. Antonio laughed quietly to himself.

“I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

“What the heck were you doing? It’s a mess.”

“Studying,” he yawned in reply and finally stood up. The crack in his back felt refreshing, strangely enough, but he wasn’t sure how he looked. Probably not good enough to receive guests.

“For?”

“School.”

“What were you studying? Primary school maths?” Francis laughed mockingly and Antonio saw Lovino shift uncomfortably. Without a second thought, he grabbed Francis by the arm and led him outside.

“Lovi wants to get into Hetalia High.”

“He does?” Francis cocked a brow.

“Yeah. It’s a good idea, right?”

But the look on Francis’ face looked unimpressed. It was a gesture for Antonio to convince him otherwise.

“Lovi would do really well there. Hetalia High actually accommodates a lots of people, and I think Roderich would approve of it.”

But Francis was still making that face. He couldn’t help but sigh. Of course he had a problem.

“Okay, what is it?”

“Don’t you think your relationship with him is a little weird? I’m not saying it’s bad – I like him too. So does Gil. But you seem to go above and beyond for him.”

“’Course I do. He’s my henchman.”

“Yeah, that’s weird.”

“Francis,” Antonio sighed, “I thought you were a genius at knowing how people feel.”

“I am,” he smiled cockily.

“Then you should know that more than anything, Lovi just wants to be put above everything else. He thinks he’s less important than Feli but he can’t make himself hate his own brother, his only family. It’s sad.”

“What’s sadder is that you’re volunteering to do it for him.”

“I’m not volunteering. I genuinely care about him, both of them.”

“Right…”

“I’m serious, Francis. Lovi is important to me.”

“Is that just because you feel the same way as him and you wanted someone to do that for you?”

Antonio’s eyes widened.

What the fuck did that mean?

“I mean, you’re just putting your own needs onto Lovino and loving him because you crave it too. You want validation.”

“No!” he exclaimed, “No. Of course not. Lovino is his own person.”

“Hey, ‘Toni. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing to care for someone. I’m just worried about you. I care about you too.”

The look in Francis’ eye had softened, become indescribably warm. It made Antonio uncomfortable to see it so close up. He had to look at the creamy sofa behind the door where Lovino was still dozing off.

“Alright. I get it. Now stop being soppy.”

“Fine. Just… look out for yourself.”

“I will.”

He had been doing it for years prior to that anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks so much for your patience and your support :) It's so amazing to see people are still reading this and it encourages me to keep writing. I've actually had to cut this chapter in half because there was too much going on, but hey, it means the next chapter will be up shortly once I've edited and more chapters to come. 
> 
> I originally wanted to include the scenes of Antonio and Lovino teaching one another Spanish and Italian until I realised I cannot speak either of those languages. Wouldn't want to risk destroying those beautiful languages. Also because I got the chance to actually go to Spain this summer, so I do have a deep appreciation of the culture. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, because it was so much fun jotting it all down (while listening to Ari's new album, whoop)!


	10. Don't Surprise Him

Antonio cringed as Emma entered the house, baking equipment clanging together like a reveille. Lovino would definitely be in an ill mood.

“The kitchen’s this way,” Francis beamed at her and relieving her of the bags, “I’ll show you where everything is.” “

Thank you,” she muttered gratefully, “Is Gilbert not here yet?”

“He shows up whenever he likes,” Antonio shrugged, “Sometimes we don’t even know if he’ll turn up.”

“Oh. Well, I have enough ingredients for ten people.”

Antonio shook his head in disbelief. Had she not known or was she overly optimistic?

“No wonder this is so heavy,” Francis not-so-subtly grunted as he barged his way into the kitchen.

Emma let out a tinkering laugh as she followed through. Then she was flicking her head back and forth, her mouth agape. Unlike usual, she had her hair pulled back, making her expression much more evident than it would have been. “You have such a lovely house,” she gasped, “It’s a beautiful kitchen. I wish our house could look like this. It would be wonderful to bake in.”

Antonio couldn’t help but think about Holland for a second. He certainly cared for his younger sister, but did he spend time in the kitchen with her baking? Was that a weird thing for siblings to do? Antonio couldn’t really tell where the boundaries began or ended.

Francis, on the other hand, seemed extremely flattered by her compliments – even though he took no part in it. “Thank you. Mama will be pleased to hear that. She wanted to apologise for the other day; she felt she acted rudely.”

Antonio cast his mind back to the previous weekend, and although he remembered that Mrs Bonnefoy had been in a foul mood, he couldn’t picture her being rude – especially to Emma. Emma had that gentle look on her face, already settling guilt in you for not being as kind as you should. He began to wonder what conversation they had.

“Not at all. I was the one intruding. I’ll be sure to leave her some of my baking.”

“I’m certain. ‘Toni, if you’re going to stand there like an idiot, why don’t you go clear up the living room? It’s a state.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.”

“Are you alright, Antonio?” Emma asked, concern deep in her eyes, “You look like you’re zoning out.”

“I, er, just woke up. Actually, I need to go wake Lovi up.”

Emma perked up at the name. “Is that the boy you’re babysitting?”

“Er, yeah. I’ll just go get him and clean up.”

He quickly left after that, feeling incredibly awkward. Why was he acting like a complete doofus?

With a disheartened sigh, he went back into the living room where Lovino was glowering at him. The pieces of paper he had dribbled on were scrunching into balls on the carpet but the giant red mark on Lovino’s left cheek showed just how comfortable he had slept.

“Who the fuck was at the door this fucking early?”

“Oh, um,” he gulped, “Remember how I told you I don’t have many friends?”

Lovino scoffed in response, “Face it. You only have the pot-smoker and Mr Narcissism.”

“Right.” Antonio made a mental note to go through those nicknames. “Well we invited somebody over.”

“We?”

“It’s a long story –”

He let out an exhausted sigh, much too old for a nine-year-old boy.

“She’s one of the few friends I have.”

“She?”

“Emma. She came over to bake.”

“To bake?” Lovino eyeballed him, as if there was something he didn’t know.

“Yeah. It really is a long story, but she’ll be spending the day with us – and possibly Gil, if he shows.”

“And you didn’t tell me earlier?” Lovino hissed.

“I forgot,” he answered honestly, “I was too wrapped up in learning Italian.”

“Hmph.”

“So, would you like to meet her? I mean, I could ask her to leave if you’re uncomfortable.”

“That’s rude.”

Antonio’s eyes widened. Did he even understand the meaning of that word?

“If you invited someone over, you can’t just kick them out.”

“But you’re a priority,” Antonio answered smoothly, remembering what Francis had said earlier.

His words echoed in his mind when he registered that Lovino was flushing at his comment. But still, he muttered quietly, “She can stay.”

Antonio cracked a small smile, “Great. You can go wash up first. I think we’ll wait a bit and see if Gil does come.”

“I don’t need you to tell me,” he rolled his eyes as he left to go to the bathroom.

Only when he was alone in the living room that it occurred to him nobody was going to help him clean up the mess they had made. And to think, he had a group of people at the house who were going to bake.

~

“So this is Emma, and this is Lovi,” Antonio introduced them plainly, standing between them as if he were reuniting two families.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lovi. I've heard so much about you,” Emma beamed.

But Lovino seemed defensive, muttering, “My name is Lovino.”

Emma looked taken aback for a second and Antonio worried she already formed a bad opinion of him. (But then again, do nine-year-olds ever make good impressions? His impression of Lovino to start of with was more than bad.)

“That’s a very nice name. It’s special,” she complimented him until he was red in the face. “Do you like to bake, Lovino?”

“I… can’t.”

“Oh?”

“My brother bakes.”

Antonio felt like he needed to step in, but Emma responded faster.

“It’d be nice if you baked something for him though. Food is best when it’s cooked with love.”

Lovino flared up even more, turning into a scarlet mess. Antonio could tell he was struggling to form words in his mouth, the way he was blubbering like a fish. It was odd how Lovino seemed an entirely different character when he was around other people. Where did that fiery spirit go? Not that he minded.

“Should we bake a cake or maybe cookies? I got too excited and brought enough for anything, really,” she laughed in that soft way, reminiscent of a gust of wind.

Antonio found that he felt really comfortable with Emma wandering around the kitchen and speaking so kindly to Lovino, no matter how much he was unresponsive. It was clear to him that Lovino found it unnerving too. Emma was slotting herself right in and they couldn’t stop it.

“Francis, would you mind preheating the oven for me?”

“Of course.”

“Lovino, would you be okay cracking some eggs?”

He didn’t say anything but made his way closer to the table, where Emma’s gear was laid out. It was a cluttered mess to Antonio, who couldn’t tell one metal contraption from another. He realised he really enjoyed watching them shuffle around the kitchen, and he was so taken that he didn’t acknowledge Emma calling him repeatedly until she touched his arm.

“Ah!”

“Sorry, did I scare you?”

Antonio could hear Francis sniggering from behind her but had to settle for the weird mumbling of, “No I’m fine. Just wasn’t listening.”

“Would you like to help?”

“Um…” Antonio realised that Lovino was staring at him from where he was beating the eggs. Once they made eye contact though, he immediately turned away and aggressively attacked the eggs. He smiled. “I’m fine just watching. I can help clean.”

“You don’t like baking?”

“I don’t mind it.”

“You can help decorate once they’re baked,” she suggested.

“Anything you need help with now?” Francis popped in.

“I have all these cookie cutters that need to be coated with flour and…”

The two them huddled together over the work bench, presumably laying out cookie cutters, and Antonio decided to join Lovino who was still whisking away.

“You want any help?”

“I don’t want help from you,” he snarled, the complete opposite of the timid little boy he had been with Emma.

“Okay then.”

So he sat aside, watching as Lovino continued to crack eggshells into a bowl.

~

Emma looked at the eggs sceptically, knowing it had more eggshells than eggs to make cookies. But she still smiled kindly at Lovino, even praising his hard work. When Lovino said that she didn’t need to use those eggs, she persisted (although she somehow managed to separate a lot out). Antonio continued to be impressed by the way she handled him. It almost made him jealous that she was such a natural whereas he was still fighting with Lovino from time to time. Maybe it was a male-female thing, he couldn’t be sure. But he wasn’t the only one sulking about having Emma in the house. Francis was getting bored of playing kitchen and was moaning about how Gilbert still wasn’t here – not that Emma seemed unhappy about that.

“He can have some of the cookies when he gets here,” she comforted him as she packed away more of her baking stuff, “And remember to give some to Mrs Bonnefoy. I think she’ll love the ones that Francis made. You’re a natural at baking.”

Francis was about to go onto some long-winded speech about his culinary prowess so Antonio quickly cut him off with a, “Are you leaving already?”

Even Lovino stopped playing with the newly-piped cookies to stare at him, longing in his eyes. Emma seemed slightly embarrassed by the attention and answered abashed, “It’s already dinnertime and it’d be bad if I spent the whole day here.”

“Why not stay for dinner?” Francis immediately offered, “We were planning on take-out anyway. And it’s just us.”

Emma frowned a little, “I’m not sure… You know, my brother…”

Antonio didn’t even bother to hide his distaste. Of course Holland was an uptight brother who, if his sister was one second late, would attribute it to Antonio trying to mess with him.

“Maybe next time then.”

“Maybe next week we can do something else,” Emma beamed as she turned to Lovino, “It was great to meet you.”

Lovino muttered something incoherent but Emma nodded along as though she heard it anyway.

“Well, I’ll see you both at school.”

Francis looked too bummed out to even make a polite gesture anymore so Antonio took it upon himself to walk her out to the door.

“Thanks for the cookies,” Antonio smiled, “And for putting up with us. I think Lovi had a great time.”

“I hope he did. He's a good kid,” Emma replied, mirroring the same smile.

“Well, uh, I won’t keep you.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you, Antonio.”

“Thanks again, Emma.”

As she walked down the street, Antonio remained where he was, staring at her silhouette. There was something in his chest – something unfamiliar but not uncomfortable – and he wondered, just briefly, if this was what affection felt like.

~

“Nice timing,” Francis smirked as Gilbert stormed into the house. His eyebrows were pulled so tightly together it reminded Antonio of how Lovino was.

“I slept in. It’s a Saturday,” he growled at him.

“It’s six o’clock – it’s practically night time.”

“Some people don’t have personal drivers, Francis,” he snapped, “I walked over here as a sign of friendship. You should be grateful.”

“Emma left half an hour ago.” Gilbert groaned, “Then what did I come here for?”

“Friendship,” Francis teased, as Gilbert pounced on him.

Antonio shook his head in disbelief. There was never a scenario in which the three of them were together and weren't fighting.

“She left some cookies for you though, Gil. And it’s still Saturday night so we can chill.”

Gilbert stopped tugging at Francis’ locks for a second and sighed, “Can’t help it, I guess. But there’ll be more chances in the future.”

“She’s not into _you,_ dumbass,” Francis snarled, shoving Gilbert away from him. 

"She’s not into anyone,” Antonio rolled his eyes at the dull joke, “Her brother is Holland. Even I’m not stupid enough to mess with that.”

“Who’s Holland?” Lovino piped up.

“Oh, he’s…”

An enemy? A bully? A walking, talking disaster?

“He’s not somebody you should know,” he settled for.

“Hmph.”

“Why don’t we all just settle down and have dinner? I’m starving,” Antonio sighed, knowing that stuffing his face full of cookies would never satisfy the endless pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, and we can talk about how Antonio is making his little child friend join our school – teaching him Spanish and everything,” Francis remarked snidely, but Gilbert clearly couldn’t hear the tone. He leapt up from his seat and grabbed Lovino by the arms. 

"You’re coming to Heta-High?” he yelped, “Aw man, I’ll be missing out.”

“Gil, don’t pick Lovi up,” Antonio reprimanded him – not that he needed to, Lovino was already fighting him off.

“Aw, but he could be my protégé,” he grinned, seemingly not feeling the kicks Lovino was aiming at his groin.

“He’s my henchman.”

“He didn’t say he was,” he rebuked quickly, “I’ll teach you German.”

“I don’t wanna learn stinkin’ German!” Lovino growled as he finally managed to loosen Gilbert’s grip on him.

Once he was free, he dashed off into the kitchen. Antonio smiled to himself as the two went off chasing one another. He felt like a proud parent, but he wasn’t sure exactly what he was proud of.

“God, you look creepy,” Francis muttered.

“Shut up.”

But he could tell that Francis was enjoying himself too. It had been such a pleasant day that he felt almost bad for taking advantage of it. Everything was too good to be true.

And as if he jinxed it, he could hear an engine roaring outside and the all-too-familiar clacking of stilettoes. He could barely let out the word ‘fuck’ when Mrs Bonnefoy unlocked the door and came strutting in with the look of thunder on her face. Even Francis made a slight whimper in his throat as he stepped up to greet his mother.

“You’re back so early –” he began chirpily.

“I saw him from outside,” Mrs Bonnefoy gritted out, “I had no idea that Emma had suddenly become Gilbert.”

“It’s not what –”

“Get him out.”

Francis gave Antonio a quick glance that must have tried to convey some message, only Antonio didn’t have time to decipher it. He was too busy trying to understand the situation, trying to know how to defuse the bomb that was ticking. He could hear the commotion outside as Francis ushered Gilbert out of the house, that pitchy young voice demanding to know what was happening and then the slam of the door.

“We were just –” Antonio began hesitantly.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“But it really is a mis-”

“Antonio. Stop.” Mrs Bonnefoy didn’t even look him in the eye. “I presume this isn’t the only time he’s been in this house.”

He couldn’t deny that, but he also couldn’t stand being accused of what he didn’t do. They had been honest.

“Where’s the little boy? I’m taking him home. He can’t stay.”

“Nobody’s at home for Lovi,” Antonio argued, suddenly not afraid but angry.

What right did she have to take away Lovino? She didn’t even know him. Did she really think taking Lovino back to Roderich was a good idea? That would be a punishment for him.

“I’ll call Roderich myself,” Mrs Bonnefoy snapped, “And explain the whole situation. There will be no more babysitting.”

“What?”

He couldn’t even respond as Mrs Bonnefoy opened the door to reveal the shaken child behind it, fear in his honey eyes. Antonio felt worse than when he had been physically stabbed. At least the pain would throb. But this was a repeated stabbing of his heart.

“Ah, Lovino. You’re coming with me. You’re going home.”

And without another look, Lovino was whisked away into the night, making Antonio feel more hopeless than ever.

~

There was no fury in her eyes no matter how much Antonio wished for it. Maybe she knew anger no longer had got the appropriate response from him, only that pointed, hurt, betrayed look could make the guilt rise in him until he was suffocating. He wasn’t sure what to say. Apologise for not doing what she asked and disappointing her? That had been done too many times. The word ‘sorry’ had become so commonplace in their conversations. Antonio stood entirely still, waiting in cowardice for Mrs Bonnefoy to speak first.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Antonio.”

That gave him some relief – at least he wasn’t alone in that. Perhaps they could just not talk about it. But then Mrs Bonnefoy took a harrowing breath and continued, “I thought that giving you a sense of responsibility would make you rethink your actions, but you keep falling back into old habits. Just what am I supposed to do with you?”

“I don’t know.”

She sighed, “Neither do I.”

Antonio had never felt more lost in his life – and he had gone through more than enough. Was he supposed to make her feel better?

“Just… do what you want from now on. If not being in clubs or class makes you happy, then do it.”

“What?”

Mrs Bonnefoy looked like she was going to cry.

“I won’t hold you back. Do what you want. If both you boys want to hang out with him then go right ahead and do it. I’ll call Roderich and settle everything. Don’t worry about a thing anymore, Antonio.”

“What? Wait,” he blubbered continuously, not keeping up with the conversation. Hadn’t Mrs Bonnefoy just said she didn’t know what to do? And now she was cutting him off completely.

“You can’t… This isn’t fair. This wasn’t –”

“This can’t keep going on, Antonio. I can’t do this. I’ve run out of options. I'm... I'm tired.”

“But Lovi needs somewhere to go,” he cut in.

And the tears in her eyes seemed to dry back up.

“If you have time to be worrying about that, then shouldn’t you have done something earlier?”

The words stung more than he imagined. Had this whole thing really been about himself all along? Was he just wanting to protect himself? Busy himself by looking after someone he decided was vulnerable? Maybe none of this was really about Lovino. The guilt sunk heavier and heavier until he had no voice anymore. He was just sinking.

“Mama, it really isn’t like that,” Francis cut in surprisingly.

Antonio hadn’t even heard him come in, but he didn’t feel like he had the nerve to look at him either. Here Francis was, acting like a true hero, trying to defend him. But he didn’t deserve it. Not now.

“We were only baking with Emma. And I was the one who invited Gilbert over afterwards.”

“Francis…”

“Really, Mama. None of this was Antonio’s fault. He even said that we should consider if Lovino felt comfortable with that.”

“Really?”

Antonio realised it was time for him to speak, but he still couldn’t. His head was still wrapped up with Lovino. He felt like he needed to justify himself, to place Lovino’s needs first. If he was Lovino, what would be the most important thing to him…

“Francis,” he began quietly, “You don’t have to make excuses for me.”

“What are you saying?” he hissed.

“Really. It’s fine. It’s better this way.” Then he turned to Mrs Bonnefoy and, with as much sincerity in his voice possible, said, “Please tell Roderich I’m sorry for the bother and I hope Lovi gets on okay.”

Francis was stunned into silence now. Now they were all stone figures but the air around them tense with thoughts. He couldn’t be sure how long they remained still, only until Mrs Bonnefoy cleared her throat.

“Well then, boys. I think we should call it a night.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, editing is not my best friend! I hope that my cutting of scenes still made sense, and as usual I would happily take your kind comments :) You guys are so awesome for taking your time to read it (god knows I get tired of my own writing fast). I hope you'll forgive me for taking it slow with university starting back up. I hope you guys enjoyed your summer like I did! And yeah, hopefully hear from you lovely humans soon <3


	11. Don't Underestimate Him

Back in Spain, Antonio used to spend his Sundays at mass and then played football until his parents dragged him home. He didn’t go to church anymore, but this Sunday Antonio felt like he should, to repent and beg for forgiveness. It didn’t matter who he asked if from, as long as he could do it.

But no forgiveness came.

He could hear Mrs Bonnefoy sobbing through the walls and the curt phone call she had with Roderich – only one of those truly broke his heart. And so, Monday rolled around in resignation.

Antonio was tired. Tired, as he walked to school; tired, as he ignored Emma’s warm welcome; tired, as he met up with Gilbert instead of going to class.

“No history with Emma today?” he taunted.

Antonio couldn’t remember the last time he hung out here at the back of the school, but it was like stepping into a familiar space again. The trees that hung so low that it camouflaged the school building, the quaking steps that Gilbert like to jump on and the giant black stain from god-knows-what were all exactly the same as before.

“I’m not going.”

“Oh.”

Antonio stayed silent, hoping that Gilbert would say something else – perhaps even ask about the damage he had done. But there was nothing.

“Wanna go?”

“I’m not going to find Holland.”

“Well, you’re too much of a pussy to do it.”

Antonio rolled his eyes.

“There’s a party Friday.”

“Of course there is.”

“Francis will probably come if you’re going.”

“I am.”

“Good.”

And then Gilbert dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out an all-too-familiar packet. The golden front of it was covered by labels: Smoking kills, and all that. But it wouldn’t stop Gilbert from stuffing a cigarette between his teeth.

He held out the packet to Antonio.

“Want one?”

He never did that. Smoking was a natural habit for Gilbert now; Antonio couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t smell the smoke on him. But this was the first time it was handed to him. And it was right there in front of him. The ease of it all shocked him at first.

Then he realised that was how vulnerable he was – it was that noticeable.

Antonio gulped.

“I’m going to need something stronger.”

Gilbert smirked and lit his cigarette.

~

The week passed by in a blur – mainly because Antonio couldn’t remember most of it. He didn’t go home since he spent most of the nights out and in the day he would sometimes linger in the school grounds or pick a fight elsewhere with Gilbert. It was the life of a stray cat, really.

Mrs Bonnefoy never looked for him.

The one person who was persistently trying to get Antonio to talk was Emma. Each morning, she never failed to greet him.

“Antonio!” she would call out with an enthusiastic wave and a friendly smile.

But each time he turned away and left with Gilbert.

In the background, he could sense the seething rage of Holland and his groupies, but Antonio encouraged it. He wanted somebody to get angry, somebody to lash out, somebody that wasn’t him.

Antonio was past the point of feeling sorry. And anyway, Francis was probably apologising for him. It didn’t matter anymore.

~

It was a university flat party that Gilbert had gotten invited to. Granted, there was only one university in the vicinity and it meant there was a high concentration of flat parties, but Antonio was still impressed by how Gilbert could network. He had a future as some kind of socialite.

The flat itself was tucked among the university area, which guaranteed full anonymity for Antonio – not that anybody was looking for him.

It was Friday night. He couldn’t remember the last Friday night he was out.

“You bought booze?”

Antonio rolled his eyes at Gilbert.

“You know I can’t get away with it.”

He smirked, as if anticipating the answer, “With that baby face of yours, of course.”

“And what do you propose?”

Gilbert shrugged, his fancy red shirt crumpling at his shoulders. “If I ask one of these lovely university ladies, they’ll probably take pity on me.”

Antonio could feel the bass of the music vibrating at his feet, even though he hadn’t made it to the front door yet. And the sound of high-pitched voices confirmed to him that Gilbert would be right.

“How did you even get invited, Gil?”

“I’m a master of all trades.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on,” he pumped his fist in the air, “Let’s not lose at partying with older women.”

“I’m not into older women,” Antonio deadpanned.

“Yeah, younger boys are your thing. I forgot.”

Antonio’s heart dropped at the implications. It brought back too much for him in one go.

Gilbert seemed to notice but shrugged once more, this time walking forward to the flat. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I’m afraid. Come on, ‘Toni.”

And he opened the door.

It was the increase in noise that first got to Antonio. He had been to parties before but this was the first one with ‘adults’ per se. It was slightly disappointing in that it looked exactly the same as any other party. There was nothing of essence. There were no decorations, only an old-looking disco ball that was barely circulating to change the lighting. The only thing besides the music that told him this was a party were the bulks of empty beer cans scattered across the room. There were probably only twenty people here, none of whom were dancing.

Gilbert, however, seemed thrilled. His crimson eyes gleamed with pleasure when he recognised one of the girls.

“Elizabeth!”

“Oh, Gilbert,” then she peered over his shoulder, “And you brought someone?”

“This is my friend, ‘Toni.”

“Antonio,” he corrected.

“Nice to meet you,” she smiled politely then her expression turned stern when she looked at Gilbert again, “You better not be planning something weird.”

“I would never!” he laughed.

“Honestly…”

The two continued their banter with Antonio as a spectator. It felt like he was in some virtual reality with the way people would just move around him, talk through him. It felt strangely comforting to know he was both here and not here.

Now all he had to do was get drunk and forget about it.

He left Gilbert alone (or more like, Gilbert just stopped caring) and went off in the general direction of the kitchen. The flat was small and cramped but the amount of people and the booming of the music just made it seem that much more confusing.

“You looking for something?”

The question came from a smaller girl. The first thing Antonio noticed about her was the perfectly flicked-up eyeliner that made up most of her face – not that it was unattractive, only Antonio couldn’t tell where the appeal was.

“A drink.”

She tilted her head to the left.

“Follow me.”

Antonio was about to refuse but her small hand wrapped around his and dragged him out of the busy corridor.

She clearly wasn’t taking him to the kitchen. There were less people floating about, but again, Antonio couldn’t seem to find it in himself to speak up.

Instead, he looked what she was wearing. By the looks of her worn-out crop top and mum jeans, he could only assume she was a university student. Plus, the make-up on her face covered up any hints of her being younger than him even if she wasn’t at university. Antonio supposed she was what you would consider pretty.

“First time here?” she asked, this time less of a yell.

“Yeah.”

“You look like it.”

He furrowed his brows. “Thanks?”

She gave him a sly smile, which made her look more boyish. It made Antonio more comfortable too. It meant when she placed her strong hands on his chest, he didn’t think anything of it.

“You’re cute though.”

“Uh, thanks.”

Her smile grew. “You said that.”

“I did.”

Then she leaned in and kissed him.

She tasted of metal, but Antonio wasn’t sure if that was just the aftertaste of alcohol. He hadn’t kissed an intoxicated woman before. But it felt weird. It tasted weird. The whole thing was weird.

But he didn’t fight it. He waited until she was finished, looking utterly satisfied.

“And you sure you aren’t… looking for something?” she asked again.

It was only then that Antonio got it.

“No.”

Her hand was on his thigh, inching closer and closer.

“You have someone else?”

And in that moment, there was a flash of recognition. An image cropped up in Antonio’s head that shouldn’t be there.

There was someone else. But there shouldn’t be.

“I…”

“Or you just don’t swing that way.”

Antonio pushed her away.

“I’m gonna go.”

And he left, rubbing his lips.

~

Antonio hadn’t expected to be walking home alone, on his first weekend out for a long while, entirely sober and before midnight. And he certainly didn’t expect Mrs Bonnefoy to be in the living room, staring at an empty TV screen.

He planned to walk right past anyway and go up to his room but she called to him. Even then, Antonio wasn’t sure if he should just ignore it and go. What would he do in his room though? Play video games again? That would be worse.

“You’re back earlier than Francis,” she noted in a dead voice.

Antonio couldn’t see her face.

“Did you have a good night?”

It would have been easy to sit down next to Mrs Bonnefoy and tell her everything. But he wouldn’t.

“Antonio?”

She turned around to look at him.

She didn’t need to gasp for Antonio to hear the shock. But Mrs Bonnefoy’s own face scared him too: the darkened eyes, the dull skin, the terrified expression.

“Why do you care?” Antonio gritted out.

“Why do I…?” Mrs Bonnefoy shook her head in disbelief, “What do you mean by that? Of course I care about you. You’re my son.”

A bitter taste arose in Antonio’s mouth, so much worse than the kiss had been earlier. There was something more vile this time that couldn’t be swallowed down or wiped away. He just had to say it.

“You’ve given up trying.”

“I didn’t mean on you.”

Antonio let out a dry laugh.

“Going back on your words, huh?”

“Antonio, I didn’t mean that. It doesn’t mean I’ve given up on you.”

“You can’t say something like that and not mean it!” he snapped, “You can’t take it back.”

“And you can’t keep betraying my trust,” Mrs Bonnefoy yelled back for what seemed to be the first time in her life. It took something out of her and she hunched over.

It was then Antonio noticed the phone in her lap.

“Roderich called.”

 His breath hitched.

“I don’t care.”

But the questions that he suppressed in the week manifested itself into annoying voices. All of them calling out in his head, asking if Lovino was alright. Was Lovino happy now? Was Lovino with Feliciano? Was Lovino going on the trips with them? Did Lovino miss him?

“Roderich also had his trust shattered.”

“I said I don’t care,” Antonio snarled again.

He was just angry. And it needed an outlet. He needed Gilbert.

“Both of us don’t think you should be babysitting poor little Lovino,” Mrs Bonnefoy spoke quietly, as if talking to the TV instead.

But Antonio was even angrier now.

How could she use that tone? What did she mean ‘poor little Lovino’? What the fuck did that mean? What did anything mean?

He just wanted to smash the TV into pieces. Throw the phone out the window. Bring Gilbert home and taunt her until she exploded. Then maybe things would make sense.

“But Lovino disagrees.”

And still nothing made sense.

Antonio felt his head spin.

“He refuses to go on Roderich’s work trips. They had to cancel this week. Lovino is demanding that he comes back to you this week and Roderich doesn’t have another choice.”

“What?”

Mrs Bonnefoy looked just as lost as he was.

“I don’t know what to say to him, Antonio.”

Lovino, who finally got to be with his family – his one and only wish – has declined it to be with him?

There was something warm in him. It was that familiar feeling he had from months ago when Lovino had gotten attached to him, or maybe the other way around. But it was comforting, soothing the fire inside him.

And suddenly, things made a little more sense than it did before.

“I know what you should tell him.”

Mrs Bonnefoy looked up expectantly at him.

“Say no. I don’t want to.”

“You can tell him yourself,” Mrs Bonnefoy sighed, “I can’t tell a child that he’s being rejected.”

Antonio wanted to laugh at the irony. You can’t tell, but the action itself must be alright.

“He’s not being rejected. He’s where he should be, with his real family.”

“Sometimes it’s not blood that tells you where you should be.”

“What would I know?”

And Mrs Bonnefoy said nothing as he made his way up the stairs and into the room.

~

Antonio didn’t remember dozing off but Mrs Bonnefoy’s light knocking woke him up immediately. He didn’t even get a chance to wipe the dribble from his mouth when she came in.

“Good morning, Antonio.”

“Morning.”

She just looked at him and he felt self-conscious. He also could smell how grotty he was – like split drinks and mistakes.

“Francis talked to me last night.”

“Huh.”

He didn’t remember seeing Francis around at all.

“Actually, he’s been talking at me. Non-stop. About how you’re a good influence on little Lovino – improving yourself as well. He said you made progress in studying. Even hoping to get into university?”

Antonio didn’t know how to respond.

He hadn’t really been thinking about getting into university, but at the same time it seemed wrong to correct Mrs Bonnefoy now. She seemed so tired after all, and even Antonio didn’t feel like fighting.

“I don’t know who to believe, Antonio.”

She sat herself down on the bed, close enough to reach him.

“Me neither,” he confessed.

He knew that saying that would only make things worse. There was no longer any trust between them, a rift that could never be closed no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t even about family anymore, only severed bonds.

“Roderich and I don’t want you to babysit Lovino anymore.”

“Okay.”

The resignation in his voice disgusted him.

Like he had thought out in his head, this wasn’t a family. This was just a stopping place. Nothing was meant for him.

“But Lovino has outright refused. It seems he treasures the time with you.”

He had to swallow.

Even though he wanted to leave, just that little comment made him want to smile.

After this long, looking after that annoying little dork, Lovino admits he likes spending time with him. And while it warmed his heart, it felt like an honour he didn’t deserve. He never had anybody say that kind of thing to him before.

The bubbly feeling in his stomach was counteracted by a cloud of insecurity.

Did Lovino really say that? It didn’t sound like something he would say. He was sure Lovino would rather be kicked to death than have to admit something as corny as that.

“I… like spending time with Lovi too,” Antonio managed to say.

Once the words left his mouth, he felt more honest. It felt like a weight was off his shoulders. And although it was only a feeling, it seemed Mrs Bonnefoy noticed. Her stern look softened and she took a deep breath.

“We’re going to compromise, Antonio.”

“Compromise?”

“With Roderich as well.”

“About?”

“Although neither Roderich nor I want to leave you two alone anymore, it seems to be in your best interest. You’re a good influence on him.”

Again, the bubbly feeling.

“So we will arrange for you two to spend the weekends together.”

“Really?” Antonio was gapping. “You’d let us?”

“But,” she cut in, “There will be more rules. And if a single one is broken then –”

“We won’t. We definitely won’t.”

“You can’t promise something you haven’t heard yet.”

“Right.”

“You’re not a babysitter anymore. I thought it was fair that Roderich didn’t have to pay you after all the trouble you’ve caused.”

“Right…”

“And you’re still happy to look after him even though you won’t be paid?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

Mrs Bonnefoy finally placed a hand on his shoulder, and it made Antonio all soft.

“I’m proud of you, Antonio.”

Then she left.

All the conflicting feelings within him found no release. There were so many emotions to process, but most of them happy. But ever the pessimist, Antonio knew he ought to deal with the one negative first: Gilbert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys, I'm such a dick for leaving this for so long. But I'm back at it again. Who knows when I'll finally finish the works that I write? 
> 
> You have my most sincere apologies and I hope to still hear from you guys (but if you hate me know I also totally understand). I'm sorry this isn't exactly a great chapter either, but I'm working on it. It's exam season and this is my form of expression I guess. Anyway, I'll talk to you guys soon and hope you're still reading!


End file.
